Blood to the Ankles - And Rising
I was busy at work at my desk planning the overthrow of the established world order when the video-phone cunningly inlaid in the desktop rang. Probably just a telemarketer, I thought to myself as I ran several possible gruesome death-scenarios through my head. Sure, animating the caller's phone and having it eat the sucker was always a possibility, but animated phones are so... passé. Everybody does it. It lacks... Style. A true evil genius must hold himself to higher standards or what is the world coming to?
Few people understand the true hardship of being an evil overlord. All they notice are the robotic minions, the power, the nice flowing capes, and the maniacal laughter - they never consider the immense amount of work and determination that goes into our projects! Do YOU think it is easy to construct a secret underground lair on a shoe-string budget while dodging the authorities and AT THE SAME TIME spending fortunes on your pet perversions? We are a misunderstood and much maligned demographic segment of the general population.
At any rate business must take precedence over pleasure, and it might, just might, be relevant after all, so I told my personal secretary to answer the phone. She crawled out from under my desk, stood up in a slow undulating movement, wiped her mouth, and took the call.
"BADASS Inc. HQ. Are You Friend Or Foe?", I heard her ask the caller. She was not hired for her brains, I tell you. In my business an utterly trustworthy sex bomb without an ounce of initiative but capable of eviscerating inopportune callers within two seconds of receiving my secret signal is usually preferable to the more intellectual types, who tend to ask disturbing questions like, Are you sure dropping him in the crocodile pit was the humane thing to do?.. Fond memories, those, fond memories. Something to tell the grandchildren about, if I had not had them all put to death for not eating their porridge. Manners are slipping these days, as I told their parents before their tragic immolation.
I hear a scream as my secretary was sucked into the phone and vanished without a trace, but dismissed it for a moment in favour of introspection: one of the most important traits of surviving evil overlords is the ability to discern which occurrences are important and which are not, and introspection, rare as it is, sure beats the loss of a hireling. As I said to that oh-so-smooth fellow in the suit, when he asked me if I would at least tell him what it was all about before I killed him: No way, dummy, I said. Not that he listened, the ungrateful man. Possibly because I dumped him in the piranha pool before answering. Better safe than sorry, I say. Fond memories, I tell you. The phone began ringing again.
Ah, well, needs must when the devil drives, and he drives passing well. I call my trusty lieutenant, attach an everseeking cord to his tattered remnants of a soul, fortify him with the Aegis of Hermes Trismegistus and tell him to answer the phone. Naturally, he does, and naturally he is sucked into the phone. It is just one of those days. If it is a telemarketer, he is more aggressive than usual in catching the customer's attention. I can use guys like that.
Better make a good impression! I stand up tall and strong, zip my zipper, don my half-mask, make sure my cape flows freely no matter the wind (never trust mother nature, I say, she is one mean bitch), focus my third sight on the everseeking cord as it twists through the universe, take hold of it.... And pull!
As I zap through the universe at approximately nineteen trillion times the speed of light (going a bit slow to avoid ruffling my costume), I finally approach a green world bathed in the glow of a not particularly impressive sun, and I am sucked down to the surface.
As all evil geniuses know it pays off best in the long run to be alert at all times or there may not be a long time, so I begin an inventory of the surroundings.
I stand on a beach... The beach is not deserted... I see three paths, going east, north, and west. I detect no threats. On the northern path there is a group of natives.... FOCUS. They look like primitive warriors. I adjust appearance to look more like a physically imposing version of them (size always matters in primitive cultures, I know from experience) getting rid of a couple of miscellaneous horns and claws, while retaining my costume. MY fashion is NEVER out of style. I go north along the path. I see the group of native warriors and they see me. I see the beheaded corpses of my secretary and my trusted lieutenant lying at their feet. I feel a burning pain in the neck.
Now, as an evil genius, one of the first lessons you get is that, no matter what, you should never lose your head. With lightning reflexes I swivel on my feet and with the seven deadly blows of Ghori-Maa I dismantle my attacker and stack him in the classic pattern showing complete confidence in myself, yet respect for his abilities. No reason to insult the locals. I quickly reattach my head and pick up the fallen warrior's weapon, which appears to be some sort of sword and slowly, but menacingly, turn to face the rest of the group...
...I smile and tell them my name. Who knows, I might be expected. This causes some consternation, but one of the natives, who looks slightly more distinguished than the rest (having a keen eye is important in the evil overlord business!), quiets them and addresses me. "Konnichi-wa, Peter Ebbe-san", he says, near enough, and begins babbling.
His babbling is easy to decipher for a genius like me (always take pride in your abilities, or you might as well just be a minion!), and it appears he is talking about his leader, some Daimyo.
Deadpan, I tell him to take me to his leader. Who knows, this might be FUN, and I needed a holiday anyhow, and if you cannot pamper yourself, who can?
As I walk with the natives on the road to their leader, I cast my eye over the verdant countryside, the cowed populace, and the utter peace and tranquillity, and I get my first real impression of these people, and impression that will only come to be strengthened over the coming years: These people are in sore need of a firm hand, for they are bloody boring.
An evil overlord could go far in such a place.
Blood to the Ankles - And Rising, The Introduction
- Being the Narrative of a Stranger in a Strange Land -
- Being the Narrative of a Stranger in a Strange Land -
I was busy at work at my desk planning the overthrow of the established world order when the video-phone cunningly inlaid in the desktop rang. Probably just a telemarketer, I thought to myself as I ran several possible gruesome death-scenarios through my head. Sure, animating the caller's phone and having it eat the sucker was always a possibility, but animated phones are so... passé. Everybody does it. It lacks... Style. A true evil genius must hold himself to higher standards or what is the world coming to?
Few people understand the true hardship of being an evil overlord. All they notice are the robotic minions, the power, the nice flowing capes, and the maniacal laughter - they never consider the immense amount of work and determination that goes into our projects! Do YOU think it is easy to construct a secret underground lair on a shoe-string budget while dodging the authorities and AT THE SAME TIME spending fortunes on your pet perversions? We are a misunderstood and much maligned demographic segment of the general population.
At any rate business must take precedence over pleasure, and it might, just might, be relevant after all, so I told my personal secretary to answer the phone. She crawled out from under my desk, stood up in a slow undulating movement, wiped her mouth, and took the call.
"BADASS Inc. HQ. Are You Friend Or Foe?", I heard her ask the caller. She was not hired for her brains, I tell you. In my business an utterly trustworthy sex bomb without an ounce of initiative but capable of eviscerating inopportune callers within two seconds of receiving my secret signal is usually preferable to the more intellectual types, who tend to ask disturbing questions like, Are you sure dropping him in the crocodile pit was the humane thing to do?.. Fond memories, those, fond memories. Something to tell the grandchildren about, if I had not had them all put to death for not eating their porridge. Manners are slipping these days, as I told their parents before their tragic immolation.
I hear a scream as my secretary was sucked into the phone and vanished without a trace, but dismissed it for a moment in favour of introspection: one of the most important traits of surviving evil overlords is the ability to discern which occurrences are important and which are not, and introspection, rare as it is, sure beats the loss of a hireling. As I said to that oh-so-smooth fellow in the suit, when he asked me if I would at least tell him what it was all about before I killed him: No way, dummy, I said. Not that he listened, the ungrateful man. Possibly because I dumped him in the piranha pool before answering. Better safe than sorry, I say. Fond memories, I tell you. The phone began ringing again.
Ah, well, needs must when the devil drives, and he drives passing well. I call my trusty lieutenant, attach an everseeking cord to his tattered remnants of a soul, fortify him with the Aegis of Hermes Trismegistus and tell him to answer the phone. Naturally, he does, and naturally he is sucked into the phone. It is just one of those days. If it is a telemarketer, he is more aggressive than usual in catching the customer's attention. I can use guys like that.
Better make a good impression! I stand up tall and strong, zip my zipper, don my half-mask, make sure my cape flows freely no matter the wind (never trust mother nature, I say, she is one mean bitch), focus my third sight on the everseeking cord as it twists through the universe, take hold of it.... And pull!
As I zap through the universe at approximately nineteen trillion times the speed of light (going a bit slow to avoid ruffling my costume), I finally approach a green world bathed in the glow of a not particularly impressive sun, and I am sucked down to the surface.
As all evil geniuses know it pays off best in the long run to be alert at all times or there may not be a long time, so I begin an inventory of the surroundings.
I stand on a beach... The beach is not deserted... I see three paths, going east, north, and west. I detect no threats. On the northern path there is a group of natives.... FOCUS. They look like primitive warriors. I adjust appearance to look more like a physically imposing version of them (size always matters in primitive cultures, I know from experience) getting rid of a couple of miscellaneous horns and claws, while retaining my costume. MY fashion is NEVER out of style. I go north along the path. I see the group of native warriors and they see me. I see the beheaded corpses of my secretary and my trusted lieutenant lying at their feet. I feel a burning pain in the neck.
Now, as an evil genius, one of the first lessons you get is that, no matter what, you should never lose your head. With lightning reflexes I swivel on my feet and with the seven deadly blows of Ghori-Maa I dismantle my attacker and stack him in the classic pattern showing complete confidence in myself, yet respect for his abilities. No reason to insult the locals. I quickly reattach my head and pick up the fallen warrior's weapon, which appears to be some sort of sword and slowly, but menacingly, turn to face the rest of the group...
...I smile and tell them my name. Who knows, I might be expected. This causes some consternation, but one of the natives, who looks slightly more distinguished than the rest (having a keen eye is important in the evil overlord business!), quiets them and addresses me. "Konnichi-wa, Peter Ebbe-san", he says, near enough, and begins babbling.
His babbling is easy to decipher for a genius like me (always take pride in your abilities, or you might as well just be a minion!), and it appears he is talking about his leader, some Daimyo.
Deadpan, I tell him to take me to his leader. Who knows, this might be FUN, and I needed a holiday anyhow, and if you cannot pamper yourself, who can?
As I walk with the natives on the road to their leader, I cast my eye over the verdant countryside, the cowed populace, and the utter peace and tranquillity, and I get my first real impression of these people, and impression that will only come to be strengthened over the coming years: These people are in sore need of a firm hand, for they are bloody boring.
An evil overlord could go far in such a place.
