Friday, November 20, 2009
Likewise, I am vexed by the objections to moving Guantanamo detainees to supermax prisons. This week, Senate candidate, Mark Kirk claimed that if suspected terrorists are brought to Illinois' Thomson Correctional Center, "the Chicago metropolitan area will become ground zero for Jihadist terror plots."
Please, it's maximum security. If it's good enough for mobsters, and killers who chop people up and eat them, it's good enough for a wannabe shoe-bomber. Let me tell you from personal experience, even if you have a mind-control ray, an army of mutant henchmen, and have already replaced most of the guards with android lookalikes, it is very, very hard to break out of prison.
And really, what are the other options? Place them in suspended animation and launch them into space? Too expensive. Banish them to a parallel dimension? Yeah, people in parallel dimensions just love it when we send them our super-villains. Talk about a foreign relations nightmare!
What I find most surprising is the suggestion that it would be better to execute terrorists without trial. Rounding up people and killing them is not how America deals with it's enemies; it's how I deal with my enemies. The supposed leader of the free world can't just adopt the practices of a super-villain. There are union rules against it. Be warned, America; should you abandon your founding principles of due legal process, I will do nothing short of filing a complaint with the Super-Villains Guild, and not even Pres. Obama will be able to stop me.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
When I learned that Dr. Jordan Ray was on the brink of inventing a cold fusion reactor, my course of action was clear. Certainly, such a device could solve the world’s energy problems, but in the wrong hands it could be a terrible force of destruction. I was determined that those wrong hands would be mine.
My henchpeople and I broke into Dr. Ray’s lab to kidnap him and steal the invention. I was startled to discover not only that Dr. Jordan Ray was a woman, but also a ridiculously hot woman. How could one person corner the market on so much brains and beauty?
While she was chained up in my basement, I tried to ask her out, but it seemed like we’d really gotten off on the wrong foot. If only we could have met under different circumstances.
That’s when Dr. Peculiar, my head scientist, revealed his new invention. It was a little wand you stick up someone’s nose, administering a shock to the hypothalamus that erases memories. I jammed the brilliant little device right up Jordan’s nose and wiped out enough memories to convince her that I’d never done any harm to her, that she was staying in my underground fortress of her own free will, and that I was a mild mannered English teacher.
We started dating, but she kept asking difficult questions. “What is an English teacher doing living in an underground fortress?” “Why is an English teacher amassing an army of robot monsters?” “Hey, is that the Twilight Avenger strapped to that table? And isn’t that saw blade getting awfully close to his—holy mother of @#%!”
I always tried to come up with some clever excuse about making visual aids for my students, but it was so much easier just to stuff that thing up her nose again. Unfortunately Dr. Peculiar and I hadn’t anticipated the effect of repeated memory wipings. Within a few weeks this brilliant scientist was a complete imbecile, with no ability to remember anything, and I was the one forgetting what I’d ever seen in her.
There was nothing for us to talk about anymore, and the sex wasn’t even any good because she’d even forgotten how to do that. I had to talk her through step by step, like Father O’Conner used to—I’m getting off track. The point is, it was time for me to get rid of her, so contrary to what you may have read in the National Inquisition, I was the one who gave the anonymous tip to the League of Righteousness.
Within half an hour, Captain Muscle smashed through my wall to rescue her. That big lumbering oaf! I left the front door unguarded and wide open, and he still had to come through the wall. I suppose it’s the only way he knows to enter a room.
Dr. Ray never did finish that cold fusion reactor, but I hear she’s launched a very successful modeling career. And apparently she’s dating Captain Muscle.
As for the memory device, after mistaking it just once for my nose hair trimmer, I’ve lost the ability to distinguish between them, and have therefore given up on both.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Sunday, February 22, 2009
The National Inquisition, that contemptible bastion of yellow journalism, ran the headline "Eagle Bravely Takes on Fear in Heroic, Rooftop Battle." While it is accurate that the Golden Eagle and I fought on the ledge of a skyscraper, it is worth pointing out that the Golden Eagle CAN FLY, whereas I cannot. I will leave it to you to decide who showed greater bravery. Also, the "heroic" battle consisted largely of a quick, and unexpected blow to the groin. I may be old-fashioned, but somehow I fail to see the heroism in a sucker nut punch.
Unfortunately, this was not the defeat that inspired me to write this post. After evading the authorities, I went to drown my sorrows at the Dastardly Scheme, a super-villains-only bar on the Lower East Side. It was there that I encountered that apiary criminal vixen, the Queen Bee.
Now don't get me wrong. A well- crafted pun, cried out in the heat of battle, is the hallmark of a classy super-villain, but in off-hours, you've really got to give it a rest. I immediately tried to make it clear I wasn't interested. This probably gave her the wrong idea, as that's exactly how you're supposed to act when you are completely interested. I suppose the only way to be sure of being left alone in a situation like that is to bust out with a marriage proposal, but as I didn't, she kept on.
I lit a cigarette, hoping that if I blew smoke in her face, she'd grow drowsy, and I could make a clean escape. Instead, she just moved closer. Of course she couldn't just walk over to me. She had to circle the whole room in a weird, elliptical pattern, steadily getting closer with each pass.
And that's when the most annoying super-villain of all walked in: the Cock Blocker. Honestly, I'm not sure what he's after. He doesn't rob banks. He doesn't try to take over the world. He's just always in the way, standing there smugly in his cockscomb cowl. He came straight for us and wouldn't stop telling long, boring stories about the most decidedly unsexy subjects... his grandmother's bed rash... small business tax incentives... how many germs are in the human mouth.
Normally, I have an excellent tool for getting out of uncomfortable conversations, but the Golden Eagle had confiscated my disintegration ray during our fight, so I just had to let the Cock Blocker babble. The Queen Bee suddenly remembered what a "buzzzy, buzzzy" morning she had ahead of her, and started to leave. I was about to ask for her number, when the Cock Blocker had the audacity to ask for it himself! She declined, and it just would have been too awkward for me to have pressed the matter further.
As I watched the Queen Bee and the Cock Blocker depart separately, I quietly sipped my cognac, and plotted my revenge. I am biding my time, but soon the Cock Blocker will rue the day he ever crossed my path. And as for the Queen Bee, I will possess her, and next time, no one will be to stop me!