Minions Wanted...

Good¹ help is hard to find. When I was running ...The Organization, I would often have to replace minions due to the turnover expected in any multinational corporate entity -- Leaving for more lucrative work, promotion, standing in fire, freak lab accidents, being between ends of plasma induction coils when they are powered on... well, you get the idea². The problem is, the inevitable horrible-death-or-disfigurement-to-compensation ratio is so high that most of the "applicants" you get are imbeciles that don't know the business end of a Steyr AMR-36 assault rifle from a hole in the ground, brown-nosing yes-cretins that tell you your plan is genius even when you're giving them a test with an obviously terrible plan, or overly-ambitious ladder-climbers that will stab you in the back to usurp your hard-won power at the most inopportune moment³.

So once I rebuild ...The Organization, I plan on a new model of recruitment. Namely, one that provides me plenty of unambitious, dumber-than-average yet still somehow able to pass a Turing test minions that actually have some firearms training and are willing to work for peanuts; a model that, if done right, I will need only compete with southern evangelical mega-churches for a steady stream of loyally slavering underlings that will do my bidding with the flimsiest of rationalizations.

Yes, you vile little social barnacles. I'm talking about Tea Partiers⁴! No, I'm not going to reveal my entire 69⁵ step plan, I'll only give you a taste!

You see, when a Tea Partier sees a picture of your president with a hitler mustache or the words, "Obama is a socialist muslim fascist commie kitty-hater who wants to take away your Medicare and give it to undocumented immigrants!" on sign held by an older, white male or somewhat-hottish, plastic church mom⁶, the deep-rooted fear and racial prejudice machines that have been ingrained into his or her unused grey matter by countless hours of propaganda kick in together to create a potent, toxic slurry that douses their very morals. It shoots right down to their gut and nearly physically pulls them into the crowd, irresistibly drawing inward, and soon he or she has crossed the event horizon of sanity and is spouting the same nonsense like a parrot taught to curse⁷. The truth in their minds gains validity by the volume and quantity of those speaking it, regardless of actual facts or historical trends.

Bonus points if the crowd members are shouting something along the lines of, "Gunmint's gunna take away yer guns!⁸" or "Occupy Wall Street wants to take your money!"

So, after first setting up an ammo-selling⁹ booth nearby for liberating cash from those eager to be parted from it¹⁰, I plan on employing "Crowdforcing¹¹" techniques to move them to my own ends. Methods include:

• Saying my target is threatening their ability to bear arms, and that we should march on them NOW and kick them out of the country¹².
• Having them construct large towers with rotary cannon emplacements to make sure the "wrong type¹³" of people can't get into their gated communities.
• If I need to cross a deep chasm, use circular logic and/or religion to have them cast their bodies into it until I can comfortably stroll from one side to the other¹⁴.
• Telling them that "That's the way Reagan did/wanted it" for whatever cockamamie scheme I want them to carry out.
• Make their minds mushy and pliable by watching hours of Fox News or some reality show, like "So you think you can dance with the survivor idols." To rile them: Bill O'Reilly¹⁵.

There's lots more, but listing them has become blasé.

So, the next time you see a crowd of gun-toting, sign-wielding white imbeciles milling about, beware my ire and be sure to leave plenty of supplication in the collection box¹⁶.

It may just be the beginning of my re-ascension to power.

1. And by 'good', I mean 'evil'.

2. Also: suicide, suicide by betrayal, suicide by failure, suicide by displeasing their overlord in any way...
3. For instance: when you're gloating and/or monologuing over the hero/damsel you're about to utterly destroy.
4. Sadly, only the modern-day versions. I haven't yet perfected my reanimation ray, and my time machine is in the shop because it was overheating.
5. Stop your snickering. The number is merely a coincidence!
6. Closely related to the soccer mom.
7. And hate.
8. Note the clever 1:2 ratio of words containing "gun" to those without.
9. "Buy three shells for the price of 4, and get one free!"
10. Also: arming them for whatever nefarious scheme I have planned at their cost...
11. It's a new field of study on how to manipulate mobs into doing what you want. A combination of logical fallacies and mind-altering gas. As seen on Fox News!
12. Regardless of their country of citizenship.
13. People I don't like.
14. "You must have 'great faith' to take the step on the bridge." "Oops! Last one didn't have enough faith. Next! Now, you look like a devout fellow!"
15. Coincidental Homophone? There are no coincidences. Except for that number of steps in my plan thing from earlier. There is only one coincidence.
16. Alternatively, feel free to buy some ammo at the AlyredCo® Ammo-n-Alcohol© booth and join in the pawn party milling away nearby.

And now, for a taste of things to come... *gong*

Well, last week turned into nearly an entire week of relaxation, without having to worry about deadlines¹ or laboratory mishaps². Don't you worry though, little reader, for I have something BIG planned soon, oh yes I do! You'll just have to wait and see...


Also, a quick report about the tents selling TNT. There was no trinitrotoluene to be purchased from the purveyors of the establishment, nor were there any blocks of C4, vials of nitroglycerin, miscellaneous rockets, plutonium-239, or any other explosive devices or compounds: mere pittances of colored gunpowder stuffed into little paper tubes, designed to light up and pop loudly when the detonator cord was lit. Nothing more than what the average four year old in my former island nation carried when leaving whatever passed for their domicile³ to scare away predators⁴, or used as playthings by infants.

I was disappointed.

However, aside from one of the hounds fearing the loud, sudden noises the explosions on the night of the 4^th were ... amusing.

More to come soon, mortal weaklings.

1. Definitely a change of pace -- I had nothing (and nobody) to ransom, so there was no time to expire and no evil obligations because of it.
2. I was rather upset at the abject failure of several minions, however.
3. ...for their shift in the coal mines.
4. This often did not work. Most of the predators were either top-of-the-food-chain, genetically-altered beasts or cyborgs that carried larger weapons themselves. The only things these devices would reliably scare away were the crazed hobo population, which became evermore curious to me for their resilience in the face of said predators in the latter days of my evil empire.

Ranter's Lament

Yesterday I wanted to relax a bit for my evening, and a bit turned into a lot. Later, I didn't feel like digitally archiving my thoughts, so you wretches get another special Tuesday bonus edition of Overlord in Exile¹ just like last week. Aren't you lucky. Don't come to expect it though.

I've been finding my undercover status... inconvenient, lately. My isolated fortress allowed me to avoid contact with the rabble, no matter how much they beat at the portcullis with pitchforks and torches². Unfortunately, with my current situation, I'm forced to do things such as "shopping" and "picking stuff up on my way home from drudgery." This leads to myself, omnipotent humble genius³, being thrust into close quarters with the great unwashed masses⁴. This inevitably results in chains of human detritus, sometimes attached by harnesses and sometimes free-floating, clustered around a shopping cart, blocking my path and generally making nuisances of themselves. They are often reminiscent of the cloudy stringers descending from the mother in a jar of vinegar, or the twisted mass of a jellyfish's tentacles, stinging and feeding upon the unwary.

While infuriating, this is not even the most bothersome part. Biological life is messy and, in truth, often causing inconvenient obstructions⁵. It tends to multiply uncontrollably, more so the less intelligent it is. While palpable, it is akin to despising the motion of the tides⁶. No, the inspiration for a loathing with the seething intensity of an Ebola outbreak in Manhattan is the inability of the (often massive) nucleus of such a cluster to fail to notice either the vile behavior of its spawn or the fact that I am... very patiently... waiting and trying to pass while it vacantly stares at the shelf, attempting to decide whether to purchase chocolate frosted sugar bombs for its hyperactive lineage or to go with the generic variety, saving a good portion of its annual income in the process. I know that I am in its peripheral vision, and that my cloaking generator is not on my persona⁷.

Normally, I would simply excite the chemical bonds of every atom in each of their impudent flesh until they burst into flame, or pull out a hyperneutrino phase-wave collapser and cause them to dissolve like a sugar cube in tea, or fold a U.S. one hundred dollar bill, fold it into the shape of an atmospheric dart assault craft and throw it into freeway traffic while they watched and let natural selection take its course. However, all of these admittedly tantalizing options would draw far too much attention to my presence and power, revealing me to my enemies.

So I stand there... staring... resisting the urge to open my mouth for fear of the obscenities that would pour forth, coating them in a sludge so viscous that they could not breathe; my hand twitches, resisting the impulse to lift their fully loaded cart over my head and bring it down upon them as a club, crushing them beneath it as flat as the final stage in the life cycle of a common opossum.

No, no... I wait, and commit each line and every fold of the foul creature's upper protrusion that can only be tangentially called a face to memory, assigning it a priority that rises the longer I wait, and plot my revenge.

For now, I am off... there are curious... "tents" that have popped up at various locations all over town, advertising the free and open sale of rockets and trinitrotoluene by the barrelful. Evidently they take all manner of credit, as well. This merits investigation.


1. Now with 10% more snarkiness!
2. This stopped once I installed the automatic drawbridge. Amusingly, it had enough torque and tensile strength to actually catapault people on it when I'd shut it fast enough. Glee!
3. ...and Champion Supreme of footnotes!
4. And indeed, depending on the store, "unwashed" only begins to describe the stench.
5. The piled corpses of my slain enemies, for instance, can sometimes make it difficult for my chariot to pass. They also used to fill up the moat before I switched to the magma-filled model, solving the problem with the price of leaving a faint ashy residue about.
6. ...which can be changed, but you need a graviton mass displacement generator, appropriate feedstock (napkin-math says about 700 rabbits or 40 orphans will do) and about 4600 GW of electricity. Preferably provided by solar sources; I must think about my planet's overall health these days.
7. Having left it in the lab of my island fortress during the insurrection, and not having enough tellurium to build another... yet.

Hell hath no wrath...

So. It's a late post, again... but I also have a good excuse. Not that I need to explain myself to you parasites.

I've been rather... irritated all day at myself.  After having blood siphoned out yesterday, I was rather light-headed. So when I left my menial job for my current lair, I left my cell phone behind.

I noticed immediately after entering my domicile and dealing with the hounds. Knowing there is a mere 15 feet from the door of my work to my vehicle, it was covered in concrete, and nigh-silent that time of the evening, I would have heard and noted any out-of-place sound, particularly one of the cell-phone-falling-to-the-ground variety. So it was very likely that the phone was either still on my desk, or in the restroom on a shelf (where I stopped momentarily on my way out). I resolved to live without my personal electronic device¹ for the entire evening and get it tomorrow when I arrived at the salt mines. I called a trusted co-worker that arrived earlier than I did to check if he saw it when he got in in the morning.

It appears Underestimating the foulness of the sad, mostly-fluid sacks of human detritus that inhabit my place of employment after-hours.

My phone was nowhere to be found in the morning, and I checked with the front desk to see if anyone had turned anything in. I sent out a department-wide electronic communique. The janitorial service was called.

Nothing.

The janitorial service was going to "check with their night crew" but never got back to my contact in the happiness-suppression part of my day. However, little do the thieves know... I have tracking software installed on my phone. When I arrived home, my system pinged with 4 hits, near a university's hall, near to my place of unenjoyment. The signal was weak, only getting within a mile of certainty before the battery went out and the phone shut off again.

This effectively eliminates me dropping it in the office.

If it is not returned in the morning, I will be rather... upset. Sadly, I didn't finish my electroshock application², so direct action is not possible. However, I can track the thief down when the phone is again charged and cause it to emit a loud screeching sound, locating them effectively. Then I can vaporize them with extreme prejudice.

Wish me luck, and pray that my wrath does not make me alter more of the city.

1. It makes phone calls, keeps my schedule straight, and contains the encryption algorithms for the nuclear launch codes. It's fun dialing the system and entering them, and watching from the built-in cameras as cardiac arrests occur from the system control operators. Oh, yes, it also has iWeight installed! From AlyredCorp© - Nanoforging a better tomorrow using raw nature today®.
2. I never got around the power-to-shock-value issue. I could either do a 10 second 5v shock or a .001 millisecond 23,000 volt shock before the battery would die. Yes, even with the extended-use one. The only solution so far was to have a 40 kg battery attached by belt, effectively eliminating the usefulness of a shock-app except for a fun joke to play on friends.

Letters from the dungeon.

(play the above while reading, and thanks for the idea, Daily Blink!)

To my dearest whoever is reading this,

I can only hope this letter arrives to you complete and in good time. Soon, I shall again leave to travel to a pit of misery to have a phlebotomy, where this body's tortured whimpers will plaster the walls thick with despair. I am, however, resolute in my quest. This must be done, for God¹ and for Country².

It's been nearly a month since my last journey to have my mortal form heated, prodded, and stabbed (repeatedly) for its lifeblood. I have already suffered greatly at the hands of these monsters, and God³ willing, I'll survive with only bruises and other minor injuries to make the journey again a minimum of two more times.

Indeed, it is for all the iron in my blood that it must be drawn, to thin it back to normal "human" levels. Sadly, it fights for long, drawn out sessions to remain within me: clotting immediately, shutting off in the vein, squealing and snapping as the disparate alien symbiote it was designed⁴ to be; fighting for self preservation against the sharp needlepoint invading its oxygen-rich pathways. The back of the hand seems where it is to be the weakest. Must remember to tell the mistress of agony to try there first. Hopefully I shall get the same one as last time, as I do not wish to go through the same dance of a someone new thinking that my veins are like everyone else's, and they are better than those that came before them. Their tears are bitter but delicious to behold, though I am still left with bruises and extra pinholes in my arms.

It was suggested I get a tap, or shunt of some sort installed. I'm quite certain it will be pushed out and rejected by the self-defense systems.

Wish me luck, and should the worst come to pass, I shall see you on the other side. God⁵ bless you.

1. Me.
2. Also me.
3. Me again.
4. When I originally created this form, it was a cold-weather survival system.
5. Your lord and savior, you all know and love him... nah, me yet again. Hah.

Plots and Plans...

Bwa-hah-hah-ha... quake in fear, mortals.

From a recent fortune cookie.

...and only four members of the waitstaff had to die before I was brought an agreeable one.

Oak it all in...

Healing is proceeding well from the poison oak mishap. The itching and burning, while still significant, has lessened considerably each day that has passed. I have developed an intimate relationship to Calamine lotion.

Operation: Oakmageddon is on track for a Friday completion. Unfortunately, I am... apparently unable to recall all of the locations that the poison oak was planted. The front grounds showed no sign of additional oak leaf-shaped shrubbery, so it IS possible that the genetic tweaking I performed on it has made it ambulatory¹. I napalmed it from orbit²... it was the only way to be sure³. This still leaves the possibility of it being in the other half of the grounds, colloquially known as "the backyard." I wasn't out there, but the patrol hounds might have brushed against it and brought it inside. Time will tell.

At the menial technical cover job, we were notified that we will be moving upstairs soon. Specifically, the first of July. We were allowed to design our new cubicle layout, and the habitrail overhaul is moving along. However, I do not think that my suggestion of a taco bar and mountain springwater tap was taken in the spirit intended⁴. Yesterday, I noticed the plan had been amended to include "Unicorn Storage". I suspect a jealous co-worker⁵.

1. And carnivorous. Possibly self-aware. It's anyone's guess, really.
2. Actually, the front porch, since my orbital weapons platforms are still offline.
3. ...of catching the groundskeeper currently tending it off guard. The hilarity of watching him run around with Kermit-arms was too much to resist.
4. I believe "or else" is a good description of this spirit.
5. Perhaps one who is a unicorn meat aficionado?

Flight of the Dictator

So I had one of those dreams last night... you know them, the ones where you remember flying? Ah, the freedom. It felt so real. Perhaps it was the way I could again feel the wind whipping by, or the hum of the lightweight power pack feeding the anti-gravity boosters. Perhaps it was the screaming intruder alert sirens or the bullets bouncing off of my densiplast outfit as I made off with the kilogram of weapons-grade plutonium.

Whatever it was that made it so surreal, it's funny the tricks the mortal mind plays when sleeping.

To be truthful, I'm happy to get sleep at all the last few days. Evidently, "poison oak" is not just a scary-sounding name, and one should not plant it deliberately for defensive purposes.¹ Sadly, despite my genius, I triggered one of my own traps², and the allergic reaction I mentioned in a previous posting has turned into a full-blown rash and skin inflammation of epic proportions over a matter of days.

Now normally, when my corporeal form has been compromised, I simply discard it and transfer my consciousness to a new clone or bio-droid (or if I've become attached to that particular one, repair it and put it back in stock). Unfortunately, I no longer have access to the machinery required to do this³, so I'm forced to stay in this form and heal it the "natural" way, despite its flaws.

As you might have guessed, I something to say about this.

AAAAAAAAAUUUUUUGGGGH this itches like hell! It burns! I will destroy every poison oak, oak, or oak by-product I come across⁴. You will feel my wrath, oaks of the forest. I shall also offer a bounty on all oak-shaped... things. My maniacal laugh will echo through the rough stone of my new fortress as each burns in my vast fireplace.

Enjoy my calamine-aided rest, foul toxicodendron and quercus (etcetera). I shall return, with torches and chainsaws -- and I shall be 'itching' for revenge!


1. Surprisingly, the land mines and punji spike traps are quite effective in preventing the local religious missionaries and travelling house-paint vendors from reaching my door. For some reason, they are not as wary as the ones I am accustomed to.
2. I don't know what's wrong; I have certainly never had that happen to me before. Ever.
3. Thank you SO much, peasantry of my former island nation. Remind me to send a gift basket made of explodium.
4. From a distance.

Mitre makes Right!

If my black, hemoglobin-injected mechanical fluid pump were capable, one of the few things I would love¹ would be Religion. Not little-r religion, as in "I'm spiritual" or "Oh no I've said too much." Personal belief, faith, whatever -- knock yourself out. No, I'm talking about big-R Religion, the organizations of masses of humanity that proclaim to be worshiping a particular God (or Gods), but in essence only follow the direction of a localized power structure that often espouses policies antipodal to the teachings of their deity. Indeed, it seems ludicrous that the "lambs" of a congregation or sect fail to consider how truly sheep-like they've become: led by someone more powerful with only the interests of the patriciate in mind, shorn of their valuable wool, and sacrificed at will. Used by their patrons to extract fealty, riches, and ultimately greater power, they reinforce their own cognitive dissonance by accepting that it is not right to question the words of their creator, because the words of the creator were written by men inspired by (whichever) deity and those words of <insert deity here> say to not question them. Since those books are written thus, it must be true and therefore must exist because it cannot be proven that it does not.

In fact, it appears that most Religions are sustained merely by logical fallacy, particularly appeal to authority and burden of proof. Yet, the flock of imbeciles seems unable or unwilling to break from their self-enforced ignorance long enough to realize the wool² is being pulled over their eyes.

For instance, let's point out the cognitive dissonance of the parishioners of a particular Religion, where murder is a forgivable sin but divorce is an ex-communicable offense. Where adultery is sin but their own priests are shuffled around from parish to parish to cover up their pedophilia. When caught, well, just shovel out some of the treasure and the problem goes away. Hopefully the priest has already shuffled off to his eternal reward in the afterlife.

What about another Religion, where the parishioners believe that their convicted con-artist founder, who discovered some magic stones (twice!) that allowed him to "translate" some golden plates that he allowed nobody else to see, and believe that their savior (and lost Jewish tribe) came to America³ despite mountains of archaeological evidence against it, decry how badly they've been discriminated against -- and then use millions of their hoarded loot to fund a campaign discriminating against a class of individual in your state of California. Also, they believed until 1978 that black folks bore the mark of Cain and banned them from their ministry. But hey, what's a little racism amongst mindless drones?

Let's not even expound upon a Religion conceived by a science fiction writer that believes you're all alien spirits from an alien prison world that arrived here by alien spirit prison ships.

So for such a powerful tool by the leaders of these Religions, you'd think that said leaders would be rather content. That's where you'd be wrong, because if you know anything about evil overlords, you'd know we're never content. No, Religions have made sure that while their followers are fanatical and devoted to allowing themselves to be fleeced by their leaders, that they're also almost always incompatible with other power structures of a Godly nature. In fact, many are so diametrically opposed (while actually espousing similar ideals) that they must constantly be locked in battle⁴.

This dissonance, of course, plays right into the hands of the godless military industrial complex, which uses the religion-contented state of the sheep to fleece further money through taxes for building weaponry to kill the other people that don't believe in their version of sky cake. Having a phantom bogey-man is always good for the bottom line.

Meanwhile, the masses are told that their government (a competitor with Religion for the wool of the sheep) is taxing them too much, and that they should demand cuts⁵ in government programs to the disadvantaged⁶ in society because it's the church's job to care for them out of the goodness of their 501(c)(3) hearts. The military gets a free pass, of course, and to ask those that are in power to pay a bit more⁷ is Anti-American Socialist Communist Nazi Hippie talk. But don't worry, ye disadvantaged. You'll be rewarded in heaven for living piously and destitute.

Meanwhile, the riches, power and control keep getting concentrated upwards. Excellent.

1. Aside from unlimited power and subterranean vaults full of precious metals.
2. Often wool shorn from their own sheep-like hides in the form of tithes or collections. 
3. Evidently by the steamships common in the days. "Dead Sea Cruise Lines -- We float because physics God says we have to."
4. Most religions haven't explored the moral issue of their "loving God" condemning his lambs of other Religions to eternity of hellfire just because they were raised in a different society with no chance to worship him. For those that have, I salute your ingenuity.
5. I've always said, if you can't compete with quality, get a horde of pitchfork-wielding morons to yell louder than everyone else about it.
6. Lazy.
7. Or even their fair share.

Electoral Barrage

America,

It has come to my attention that you intend to hold an "election" of some sort, perhaps involving billions of your dollars provided to some sort of faceless automatons beholden to those entities donating said money.

Putting aside for the moment the fact that if your peasantry is so stupid that they take television advertisements at face value, and that therefore the quantity of money spent by a candidate increases the likelihood of that candidate being elected, why hasn't it self evident that there must be an ulterior motive for a candidate (or their lackeys) to spend millions or hundreds of millions of dollars just to get into a job that pays a few hundred thousand dollars a year?

Back in Alyredia (my island nation) the population was kept rather in-check by threats¹ of violence and pitting one class against another against both of their best interests. Take, for instance, when I told the mud farmers that the hemp processors (who were organizing to bargain for better working conditions) were only in it for themselves and taking a cut off the top while everyone else worked their tails² off. Additionally, those dirty hemp fatcats wanted to get someone to replace me through something called a "bloodless coup", so I spread the rumor that their guy was all about just taking money and giving it to some stupid social programs for lazy people.

You know what they did? When the hemp people went to meet with the mud people, it was a riot. Literally, a riot -- that's not a figure of speech. I'm not sure what happened to their candidate, but he was never seen again and definitely did not end up in an unmarked grave somewhere after having been "escorted" away from the meeting by a few of my loyal undercover soldiers.

Ah, good times.

I guess it does no good to poke fun at the willful ignorance of the American people, however. Despite having free and (nearly) unrestricted access to a wealth of information in the form of the internet, few take up the large cup just sitting there, tantalizingly, at the edge of the well of knowledge. Perhaps the filter on this cup is just too hard to configure, or perhaps the giant bag of refined sugar sitting next to it in the form of Facebook and Fox news is just too hard to resist by the mentally-diabetic masses. The amusing part is, many of them are pouring it directly into the well, contaminating it for all.

With the state of the "media" as it is in America, it shouldn't be difficult to continue the rule of the upper class, by hook or by crook: duplicitous ads that the proletariat believe must be truthful by law; "irregularities" of voting machines made by companies that will benefit greatly if a particular candidate wins; voter suppression at the polls; gerrymandering in states to carefully eliminate pockets of resistance (or at least minimize their impact by putting them all in one district). Combined with the "pass-the-blame" game of blocking any economic improvement measure and the complaint that it's "not getting better fast enough" actually working on a short-attention-span, no-memory populace, it seems as though most of the political money spent is rather wasteful both during and after an election. Millions spent on commercials to sway voters that will have their vote nullified could be far better spent, say, on building a laser to blow up the moon or on mind control rays.

I have a far better solution.

Why not elect the lobbyists directly? It's proven that elections in America can now be bought by the highest bidder, and who bids higher than the corporations and the lobbyists that work for them? This works within your quaint electoral system. It also cuts out the middleman politician, which reduces the amount of money it costs to have a law written. We also wouldn't waste as much time with frivolous pursuits: laws would only be written to benefit the people³ that deserve them.

What are currently known as "contributions⁴" can just be called a salary (with bonuses for the number of laws passed that benefit the lobbyist's employer). The taxpayer need not pay them at all; their money would come directly from the corporations they work for and represent.

Finally, the position could be non-specific; the lobbyist merely holds a seat and can be replaced by his or her employer at any time, should they show a streak of independence or if the employer is in any way displeased with the lobbyist's performance.

What do you say, America? Won't you help the poor, destitute corporations that have suffered so greatly under Obama's iron-fisted anti-business neo-fascist zombie granola-eating Nazi Muslim pedophile take-away-your-guns hasn't-fixed-the-previous-administration's-mess-fast-enough America-hating rule? Those corporations who have really learned their lesson after losing two trillion dollars to risky ventures after being bailed out just a couple of years ago this time we promise?  Come on, Chase Bank, Citigroup, and Koch industries will let all that money they save on buying the presidency trickle down to you, because this time will be way different than the last time.

Who you gonna believe? Those who are spending millions or your own lying historical facts?

Actually, it doesn't really matter. The vote can simply be fixed and certified by the supreme court if necessary.

¡Viva la Corporatión!

1. More "displays", less "threats".
2. Again, not quite a figure of speech. Many of the menial class were born with tails due to inbreeding and industrial waste products.
3. Corporations and the rich people that run them.
4. Also known as "bribes" in other circumstances.

Yardwork - the broken magnetic resonance generator to this body's plasma coil.

Curse this corporeal form!

One of the things I'm learning to deal with is the prevalence of these so-called "allergies". To maintain my cover tonight in this sleepy, unsuspecting suburban enclave, I was forced to do yardwork on the previous evening. If I hadn't, the city would have come along and fined me for allowing "noxious weeds" to grow. Little do they know what grew in my greenhouse of evil back in my island fortress.

At any rate, anything short of negating the atomic bonds that hold their molecules together and causing a cascade disintegration leaves behind evidence, and since I was forced to leave the portable version of that weapon behind I must comply to avoid suspicion (for now).

The mowing and weeding itself isn't that difficult, though why anyone would voluntarily keep "grass" is beyond me. Broken rock and the skulls of my vanquished foes was always enough for just the right atmosphere back at the lair. It's the pollen in the air and the cut grass. These mortal lungs have difficulty after even a short time, and it just builds up to be worse until breathing is a chore and my eyes are watering. I rushed to finish and then got inside to the micro-lab and mixed up some Albuterol with an inhalant vector, took a dose, and it was quite a relief. Additionally, sitting in front of the air conditioner was helpful as well.

So it's well known that these allergies bother multitudes of people. Why haven't they figured out a way to fix it yet? Knowing my former "peers" (many of whom run drug companies), it's because it's far more profitable to make quick fixes. This may not even be intentional: why bother looking for more permanent fixes while your drug is selling well? The thing that I don't understand is why they don't develop something that works better? Many people would pay much more for a more effective solution... even sell their own souls, if I properly overheard some of the mutterings of allergy sufferers. Or is it a question of capability? Note to self: develop new better working and more complete daily allergy relief medication for ordinary humans.

I'm assuming that my cover is good enough that my enemies will not connect the writer of this weblog to my real identity. They'd know to develop weapons based on this newly-discovered allergy weakness. Perhaps I'd best hurry developing my anti-allergy defenses, at any rate.

Have a nightmarish day, foul followers.

Everything evil must have a beginning...

Greetings, vermin.

It has been quite some time since I have endeavored to write down my conjectures, experiences and subliminal messaging for the world to dutifully absorb and become my unwitting subjects (through admiration, vexation or just plain outright fear). This has been due to a rather... complex situation.

With the crash in the United States real estate market and the failure of multiple banks where I had stored most of my hard-earned¹ currency, my net value had dropped so far that the few niceties² I provided to keep the population of my small island-nation from revolting became too expensive to sustain at the same time as keeping my . Actually, that's not quite true: they had always been revolting, but knowing my security detail had walked off the job... they had decided to rebel³.

I had thought myself safe in my moat-surrounded fortress, being as how the moat was filled with magma and the fortress was carved from an active volcano. Unfortunately I had not realized that my so-called "trusted lieutenant" was unhappy with me as well (due to some sort of mixup with his own last few paychecks). I discovered this delightful fact when I found him hitting the button to raise the moatbridge and disarm the automated defenses, allowing pitchfork- and torch-wielding peasants to stream into my castle.

With only the horcrux I had in my pocket (seriously, who places all of their horcruxes in hidden locations and mindless animals? It's not as if there's a minimum distance requirement and animals are fragile.) and my emergency mayhem kit⁴, I was forced to flee to my rocket-propelled escape pod while activating the self-destruct mechanism. I heard the rather-satisfying "T-Minus 10 minutes until self-destruct" broadcast in monotone as the door closed, and then the exhilarating roar and 6G acceleration of my pod blasting out through the top of the volcano dominated my senses.

Imagine the surprise on my ex-lieutenant's face while he was disabling the countdown and it finished while still showing 9:46⁵.

I set myself up with an average suburban life and leverage my technology skills to get a menial urban IT job, which allows me to live off-the-grid, at least off the standards of a grid that an evil overlord is accustomed to. It should afford me time enough to rebuild, hidden from the prying eyes of my enemies (including my treacherous ex-lieutenant⁶), and restart my plans for world conquest. In the interim, I've also become quite fond of a few "computer games"; while nothing like the escapism provided by full-immersion VR that I used to have back in the lairs, I suppose that beggars cannot be choosers⁷, and besides, it's nice playing a few games that I have to work at to be successful at⁸.

So at any rate, I found myself with a considerable amount of time on my hands and only a small fraction of my original hoard and machinery. No secret lab. No access to my moonbase or orbital weapons platforms. Computer technology from the dark ages. Worst of all, having to clean my own domicile. I decided that while I'm laid up and creating new fragments of my soul to imbue into objects (on the list: solid platinum bar, Mount Rushmore, the moon) and finding alternative power sources for gadgetry I plan to rebuild (the orphanages are all questioning my motives; I believe it was the request for a quantity discount that caused their suspicion), that I would fill my time by attempting to brainwash the populace two to three times a week in the guise of humor and commentary. Sometimes, I may chat about games or just amusing things I've discovered. Anything that I so choose to fill the time.

I also may be trying out new monologues or bylines. Let this serve as a warning.

Perhaps I will see your IP in the logs again.

DO NOT FAIL ME.

1. Stolen.
2. Actually, mostly soldiers and automated camera/death ray emplacements.
3. Bonus points for getting the movie reference ("Points" have no cash value. Void in all 50 States and Canada.)
4. No, it causes mayhem. An essential tool for the overlord-on-the-go.
5. Actually, I don't have to imagine it. The final act of my in-fortress cameras was to send me a picture of his face over the controls as the explosions began. Truly the best laugh I've had in months.
6. Always assume your enemies have survived, if you haven't seen their smoldering remains and checked the dental records.
7. Beggars at the island fortress were simply vaporized by automated lasers or pushed into the lava moat if the lasers were down for maintenance.
8. When you're the only one with the brilliance to program in a 5-dimension holographic interface to manage the VR environment, you have to program all your own games -- which means you know all the puzzle solutions and cheat codes.