Sunday, February 22, 2009

Curses! Foiled Again!

The details of my most recent, and near successful attempt at world domination, and my downfall at the hand of the Golden Eagle-- that feather-headed do-gooder from the League of Righteousness-- have been so sufficiently documented that I scarcely need address them in my "blog." However, I do take issue with some of the mainstream media's coverage of the events.

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 en
countered that apiary criminal vixen, the Queen Bee.

Typically, I avoid insect-motifed villains, as they tend to take things a bit too far. If she heard me groan as she ordered "a stinger, with a drop of honey," she must have taken it as an invitation, as she turned to me and said, "So, the Infamouzzz Profezzor Fear... There's quite a buzzz about you."

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.

"Too bad about your fight with Golden Eagle," she said. "I never liked that guy. He gives me hives."

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.

I have to admit, there was something hypnotic about her movements. Not that many women can look sexy in black and yellow, horizontal stripes, but the Queen Bee was pulling it off. As she finally landed on the seat beside me, I caught myself thinking, "Now that my plot to take over the world has been foiled, maybe it's time to move on to Plan Bee."

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!

Illustration by Christie Allan-Piper