Predator Press
[LOBO]
Finally having lost faith in the "Rule of Law", I have chosen to follow the path of the Supervillain.
LadyTerri found this rather laughable.
"
Supervillain?" she scoffs. "You passed out when I told you there were artichoke hearts in your salad."
"I'm a vegetarian!"
"Artichokes
are vegetables."
"Well, that explains the rather lackluster effect of me gaining the vitality and courage of the artichoke by eating it's heart," I concede.
"If you're a vegetarian, why do you always want me to make pork chops?"
"
'That which does not bend breaks,'" I recite wisefully.
"Stop quoting fortune cookies," she demands.
"Look," I insist. "I
need a certain number of pork chops a day. I'm hypoglycemic."
"So you're going to be the world's first hypoglycemic quasi-vegetarian Supervillain? You blubbered like a sissy when Bambi's mom got shot."
"Hypoglycemics are
prone to counter-regulatory hormones triggered by the falling glucose, and the neuroglycopenic effects produced by the reduced brain sugar!" I protest.
"Stop quoting Wikipedia!"
"I already bought a cape!"
***
I take exception to LaryTerri's doubts. Since childhood I have wanted nothing more than to be a Supervillain.
Dammit, I thought.
What does she know? I'm absolutely oozing with, um, Supervillainiousness.
In fact I question the credentials of virtually all
other acknowledged Supervillains!
Take Lex Luthor, for instance. How long can you go on as a qualified 'Supervillain' when you've known your arch-rival Superman's greatest weakness for decades and have yet been unable to exploit it? Lex shoulda just used a surface-to-air heat seeking missile to affix Kryptonite to Superman's keyster in flight. Suddenly, Superman can't fly any better'n a garden-variety cinderblock.
Plus he ain't the "Man of Steel" anymore. Splatto! End of story.
Getting your ass kicked once a month
hardly qualifies.
They shoulda called that guy Lex
Loser
Still, I can't expect to go from zero to Supervillain overnight.
I need a
reputation.
So I decides to do some midnight skulking.
Unfortunately, midnight is pretty late. I need a good 16 or 17 hours of sleep a night or I can't function at all. Plus, if I came home after midnight LadyTerri would totally kick my ass. But it occurred to me that midnight skulking at around 8:30 would be
really sneaky ... no one would expect that.
Man, that's positively
evil.
Ominously seizing the lunchbag she packed for me off of the counter, I made my way out to seek my evil destiny.
I started small. Once sufficiently dark, I tried kicking over the neighbor's garden gnomes. But the ground is frozen; all I did was painfully jam my toe. I figured I would have more luck with the trash cans, but their dog heard me and woke 'em up.
"Get the hell away from my trash LOBO!" Jeanie Anderson yelled.
"I'm not LOBO, Jeanie!" I replied, eyebrow arched.
-Hah! Already spinning my webs of deceit, I'm just
crawling with evil now!
***
I wasn't really
afraid when Stan Anderson loosed their dog Rommel on me.
That's not why I ran.
I ran because it's 6 degrees, and I'm wearing nothing but black rubber and spandex, a mask and cape.
-I'm freaking
freezing.
Full-blown Supervillains seem to get way cooler uniforms. I'm not sure why ... maybe they get discounts for dry cleaning. This would be a good thing, because I keep forgetting I'm wearing the cape and dragging it outside the car door.
And that's how Rommel caught me. My cape, skirting the icy road outside the car door, was the perfect medium for Rommel to stop and drag my 1990 Plymouth Horizon off the road and into a nearby ditch.
Rommel then proceeded to dismember my car piece by piece. It was quite frightening; first it was small items like the door handles, mirrors and windshield wipers. Then those powerful paws appeared in my
windshield; he clawed my rumpling hood for purchase while his enormous foam-dripping teeth shredded newly-exposed engine in enraged frustration.
Rommel paused to growl hideously at me through the glass, and I could see cuts and blood on his gums; rearing back as if in a sudden moment of inspiration, he began hurling himself against the windshield repeatedly, and web-like cracks began to race across with every impact.
Now this is why Supervillains have
henchmen. I could've used a handful here. I could, for instance, make one get out and push. And then as the dog kills him, I make the
next guy get out and push. -And continue on in that fashion until the beast's bloodlust was sated, or until I had been sufficiently pushed free.
Plunging finally through the windshield, I was surprised when Rommel passed right over my femoral artery and voraciously attacked the pork chops and salad LadyTerri packed for my dinner.
My God, I thought.
This is the meanest Boston Terrier I've ever seen.
... and now he has eaten the heart of the artichoke too.
