Minneapolis Woman Hopes She Runs Into That Dude From Caribou Again So She Can Tell Him What a Huge Jackass He Is

Moved by the easiness of today's Caribou trivia and badly needing the self-esteem that answering the trivia brings, I decided to abandon my no-answering policy--hastily adopted anyway, the rash decision of a spurned lover--and save ten cents.

Mary Shelley's most famous novel, I answer, is Frankenstein.

The jackass behind me, all smug and determined to cloud my victory, says, "No, it's not. It's Frankenstein, The Monster."

It has been awhile since I've had the opportunity to employ The Stinkeye. Also, as the situation would indicate, I had not had my coffee yet. I turn to him, and (through eyes so squinty I can scarcely make out more than his general outline) in a voice that manages to be both saccharine and extremely crunchy (think: Fruity Pebbles) I seethe: "Even if you're right, I don't think they're going to be too technical about it. If they were, they probably would have spelled her last name correctly." Here, I point to the trivia board, which spells her last name S-H-E-L-L-Y. Oooooooo. I sure showed him. (Why that particular piece of useless information is piggishly taking up space in my brain, I do not know, but I would gladly give up knowing how to properly spell this name in return for any other useless fact.)

Walking back to my office, I begin to have this vague feeling that the guy is right about the novel having a sort of subtitle. Shit. So I google it up as soon as I get back to the office. The full title is: Frankenstein, or, The Modern Prometheus. Ha. That dude was a jerk.