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Columnists
The winner of a recent competition here at Evil Planet - the aim being to describe a day in the life of you, the evil genius. Death at the Door (Baz) is the author of this excellent entry.
-- Evil Genius Log 07-01-xx –
I wake up. It's a new awfully sunny and hellishly warm fairy tale day on my bloody secret tropical paradise base. I hate it. My two henchmen who usually dress me up are, for their first time ever, nowhere to be seen. I can hear them chatting in the next room (which happens to be the torture chamber; desperate painful cries of the tourists help me to relax). They are sipping something which sounds like my breakfast coffee. No matter, soon they'll visit my baracuddle flesh-eating hamsters for dinner. I silently dress up. My black, fire/bullet/flesh-eating hamster resistant black costume has one button too much. I hate it. The mute tailor is to be carefully tortured until he asks for mercy. As I check my agenda for today (A hit man for my 8th wife, a new wig for No. 2, 2 tons of litter for the hamsters...), I notice a page is missing. I pick up the phone and call the British Intelligence. A woman answers. I ask to speak to James. An annoyed voice replies that he is very busy. I can hear party music and women laughter in the background.
"James, did you steal my bloody Doomsday Device® plans again?
- Wha? Ahh, th-oo-ose? Ya, I f-thhhh-think I 'ave 'em a-ar-a-round…
- Geez, then fax them back, people are worrying, dammit!"
A minute later, a henchman enters with a bunch of sheets. I threw them in the paper shredder. They're useless now, of course, but it's good to feel important. After phoning to the local "Agency", I sent a bunch of people to threat my wife. That fat cow complained I spend too much time away from my family. Bitch. At least her old man was rich and jovial... Until my people dropped him a birthday gift. His ears landed in some Jamaican kindergarten...
Mr. Weirdjob came to my office, still carrying his steel briefcase, and asked for today’s orders. I told him to bugger of. I do hope he didn’t take that literally.
Suddenly an alarm triggered: a squad of fully equipped marines ran into the room, guns blazing. Their leader, the worst Kurt Russell rip-off I’ve ever seen, politely invited me to “f---’ reach for the f---’ sky”. The morning has a nice beginning. I gave him the best evil laugh I could and pressed the button. Nothing happened. I pushed the lever, still nothing. “That should teach me to employ the cheapest engineering team from China”, a grim thought passed through my mind, followed by plenty of friends and siblings who seemed to stop for lunch. As I prodded buttons and pushed levers, thinking of the friendly message I could say to the Chief Security Inspector the next time we meet, the square-headed G.I. seemed impatient. He idly kicked His Unstoppable Grace, the Onslaught. The latter didn’t like it much so he scratched and tore at the commando’s camo pants. Neither did take pleasure in what they were doing. Finally one button unleashed a brigade of mechanoids with flame throwers and a cleaning team to wipe the sooth from the walls. Everyone was happy except HUGO: the cat’s whiskers caught fire.
It was time for me to inspect my latest weapon of mass confusion. I proceeded to the laboratory and put on my lab coat. As I entered, Funkyman saluted. The poor chap didn’t have much brain left after a most gruesome accident, involving a beaver and a pack of pencils, so he grew himself a sturdy afro to dilute the size of his head. I threw him a Snickers and climbed the stairway to the control room. I then pulled the only lever, which didn’t work, creating great confusion and general misunderstanding. The weapon worked nicely. Since I was now reassured the Doomsday Device would not work, thus the bloody secret agents would actually fix it while trying to sabotage it, I finally decided to eat.
My breakfast, as always, was scrambled eggs with bacon. At least I could tell it was scrambled because it was black, as for the ‘egg’ part, I could see bits and pieces of the shell. As usual, I threw it in the garbage can and ordered some coffee from the secret lair’s Starbucks. As I sat there, sipping my well-earned coffee, the alarm rang again. I didn’t move and opened my book (“A Complete Idiot’s Guide to Evil Geniuses”). As I read the chapter about physical defects and mental disorders, I heard muffled screams (people shot with silenced weapons), monstrous squeaks (people being mangled to death by Giant Hamsters), some ZAP! sounds (electro-gun in action), and a fair bit of SQUISH! sounds,(people being torched alive) followed by even more screaming, squeaking and zaps. As the sky outside was getting darker, I stood up, threw the Styrofoam paper cup into the nearby commando and creeped in the laboratory. Here, I witnessed one well-dressed gentlemen, trying to figure out the Doomsday Device’s controls, hitting the aforementioned with one hand and holding the manual in another. Finally he seemed to understand the three button controls (Play, Stop and Fast Forward) and pushed a button at random. The ceiling opened, the weapon arose and fired a half-dozen of shots in random directions before rising through the opening in the ceiling and shooting in the White House’s direction, even if I programmed it to take out the Eiffel Tower.
I entered the lab, the agent was nowhere to be seen but the wall before me had a strange black sooth figure on it. I refused to think about it and advanced to the controls to shut down the Doomsday Device.
It was a good day for genuine evil plotting |
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