Monster Smash #4: Kroenen
by Annie Riordan
Name: Karl Ruprecht Kroenen
Species: Part human, part beanbag.
Height: 6 feet even
Weight: 150lbs. 270 with the armor, cogs, gears, weapons, and sand thrown in.
Hair: Not a follicle remains.
Likes: Classical music, surgery, racial purity.
Dislikes: Pretty much everyone and everything else.
Do I, as a descendant of Polish Jews, feel the tiniest bit bad about choosing a fucking Nazi for this month’s Monster Smash? Maybe a little. But before we proceed, allow me to point out one tiny little fact: I cannot help who I find myself attracted to, a sad truth which should explain to you why I am still single at the age of 49 and will die a spinster. I have shitty taste in men. Okay? I admit it. Happy?
Also, of all the things that make Karl Ruprecht Kroenen potential fuckboy material, his being a Nazi is dead fucking last on the list. I’m just going to use him for sex, not marry him. And who better to use for sex than a wind-up clockwork man? Did you know he can turn a key in his mechanical heart and speed up his movements and reflexes? Man, it’s like having a dildo with a FFW option on it! “Hey Alexa, tell Karl to set his fuck level for light speed.” Get your multiple orgasms in half the time. And when you’re done, turn the key and crank him into Shut The Fuck Up and Make Me a Sammich mode.
Okay, whoa, lemme back up a few paces. *deep breath* So, Mr. Kroenen, as he appeared in Guillermo Del Toro’s 2004 film Hellboy, is a super assassin in the service of Rasputin, both of whom have extended their lives through clever mechanics and dark magic. I’m assuming his father was a SwissChamp XAVT 2.0 Army knife and his mother possibly a Hacky Sack. Long before Repo! The Genetic Operamade it popular, Kroenen was addicted to surgery and spent much of his spare time cutting off his own body parts and replacing the important ones with machinery. His hands, his spine, and his blood – all replaced with gears, rebar, and sand. One wonders what else he might have cut off and replaced, just as one wonders what he might have done with a pneumatic jackhammer and/or an extra long carbide drill bit.
Unfortunately, Kroenen saw no reason to replace the lips and eyelids he surgically removed, leaving his naked face looking like the aborted fetus of a crash test dummy’s one night stand with an olive loaf.
But as long as he keeps the elaborate series of gas masks he collects attached to his face, he’s got a lot of good points. Stunningly athletic, bonelessly limber, more flexible than a Romanian gymnast on a shitload of Flexeril, faster than a speeding bullet, and more powerful than a Hadron Collider, watching Kroenen in action is like watching a blender in a tornado. He never loses a fight (well, at least not with inept security guards) and takes orders from Ilsa Haupstein without hesitation, so who’s to say I couldn’t program this macho metal fuck machine to do my bidding just as I see fit? That’s right, Karl – down on your oiled, hinged knees, and lets hear a few rounds of Mazurek Dąbrowskiego while you’re gearing up, bitch. Heil my fat, white butt, you streamlined, steampunk, sexy fucker.