Wouldn't you know it? I spent all this time cracking the security system of The League of Satisfactorily Adequate Gentlepersons' secret hideaway (found it on Craigslist), only to discover that they will be in Transylvania, staking anyone who sparkles in the sunlight.
I won't stand in their way. I might even mail them some silver bullets to dispose of shirtless were-puppies as well.
So instead I'll be spending the 31st over at the ROACH Wagon with The Aluminum Chef and Fatal Phyllo, passing out Snickers bars with the ROACH url attached. It's time to raise the next generation.
Jet City has its share of freaks, yet I have to concede, ours are paltry when compared with the fetishists of Folsom, California.
These brave terrifying men, women, and pre-op persons have levels of dedication unheard of in the RLSH or the Supervillain community.
You know how I can tell?
If they aren't dying of heatstroke in head-to-toe latex, then they will have some very unusual sunburns to account for on Monday when they go back to the office.
Here we have a man who uses his girth to his advantage. A skinny "boi" could never pull off this face mask. Not really. Without the uplifting support of jowls, the helmet would rattle uselessly with every step.
THIS IS DEDICATION. He cares not if the searing California sun throttles him until he finds himself in the emergency room with a nurse who is rocking a mustache despite having two X chromosomes, he is in this for the long haul.
What do you get when you cross Dr. Steel with Hugo Weaving circa 1994? I'll tell you what: It's not namby-pamby halfassed executive transvestite. No, this is a transvestite who is fiercer than Naomi Campbell during her special ladytime. This transvestite will FUCK. YOU. UP.
What is that you say? You expected worse?
Darlings, those of you with a sensitive disposition should not scroll past this point.
Additionally, if your secret identity is holding down a 9-5 job, your employer will hardly be amused to bear witness to this picture.
I had always been taught that cows have multiple stomachs. Apparently, so do pig-men.
As you can see, tapping into the collective fears of humanity need not be restricted to the same tired tropes that have been done to death: hellfire, insanity, disembowelment... New terrors are emerging every day. Granted, there is always the danger of the fear d'jour wearing off, but that's what rebranding is for. It's never too late to go back to supervillany school and retrain for a different career in evil.
If you look closely at the torso of the farmer on the right, you'll notice that he is already having the elective surgery to rebrand himself as a biological oddity, Spanish Ribbed Newt Man!
I can only assume that his arch enemy is this guy:
I eagerly await the man-bird-child who will come of this coupling. It shall be raised by Steven Fry, have Dr. House MD as his other father figure, and when it comes of age it will skin Mr. Raven Blade and wear the tanned hide to prom.
The weak link in any compound is not its fences or weaponry: it's the peons who have never faced an incoming hoard. They panic. They forget to deploy compound lockdown. They waste the heavy artillery on the first wave. They interrupt my weekly viewing of Castle, when the rules clearly state that you are NEVER to interrupt Beryllium while she is getting her Nathan Fillion fix.
The supervillain community has long despaired for a training program that adequately prepares the modern henchman for our high-tech world of automated systems. (Gone are the days when you could sit them in front of Space Invaders and hand them a tommygun along with their training completions certificate.)
Behold: the cutest zombies since Lord of the Fries.
I will have none of your "ha ha, women and their casual gaming... it's so adorable when they lose at Bejewelled" insolence.
I am supervillan first. Woman second.
My gynecologist found that out too late, may his soul rest in peace.
No, Pop Cap's delightful little game was clearly meant for desk-henchmen facing everyday challenges: attackers in superarmor, attackers with catapaults, attackers who can fly, and even attackers with goddamn trained dolphins. They even considered the possibility that Michael Jackson's corpse might be converted into a weapon of mass destruction.
Only a matter of time
In-game weaponry is perfectly anaglous to standard compound defence systems: ballistics, freeze rays, landmines, and moat monsters.
My minions have been playing this game for some time now. I don't even need to pay them while they play it-- I've pre-installed it on every desktop, laptop, iPhone and Xbox that comes through our gates, and they keep coming back to it like rats to opium, all on their free time.
As a result, compund security is up a full 40%. Even the raccoons that used to rummage through our garbage are gone.
Now only if I could find some practical use for Rock Band 2...
Is it true that everyone in Jet City works as a Barista?
- Get Me Out Of Ohio
Fan mail is not the place to berate people for blanket generalities, GMOOO. I'm going to assume that by "everyone", you mean "a disproportionate amount of people", and to narrow it down further you mean "a disproportionate amount of people between the ages of 18 and 30".
And yes, you'd be right.
The employment opportunities in Jet City are full of opportunities for young go-getters who lack the necessary degrees to work for one of our many biotech firms (who also serve coffee).
For instance, you could be a barista in one of a number of chain coffeehouses that compete for clientele by launching weapons of mass comfortableness. It is not uncommon to see patrons unable to lift their no-foam grande lattes with whip because they have fallen prey to nuclear-grade overstuffed chairs. Fireplaces, art gallery lighting, and free wi-fi guarantee a return trip (after the customer has been shuttled to comfy-chair rehab for the night).
Another venue that is always hiring is the dispassionate indie coffeehouse. This is a job where you can express your creative side: the staff are free to express themselves in an ongoing series of performance art projects. For example, holding a dirty rag while standing perfectly still in the middle of the room is politically-charged and challenges the status quo, raising public consciousness to the need to work to save the environment... starting by bussing their own tables and wiping them down afterward. You can pay upwards of seven dollars for the privilege of cleaning up your own damn organic, fair-trade, free-range coffee spills.
There is also a sniff-test, to ascertain whether you used organic cruelty-free soap that morning, but refused to give in to the corporate juggernaut that is anti-persperant. It's a well-known fact that deoderant runoff is killing wild salmon.
But, GMOOO, I suspect that since you contacted me instead of the advice columnists from one of my city's weekly rags, you want to know if Supervillains find fulfilling part-time employment at any of our great city's coffeehouses.
The answer is yes. And they all work at Starbucks.