I wake up at 7:00 AM every day and brush my teeth like everyone else. I put my pants on one leg at a time just like you; but this next part is where we differ. I work on the top floor of a very tall building; a sky scraper if you will. I run a company Ėno, sorryĖ a corporation that specializes in getting results. What results, you ask? Whatever I want them to be; but it usually revolves around taking over the world. Some may call it an empire, but I donít like to brag. They also call me evil, but theyíre just being dramatic. So what am I? Well, for starters Iím bored.
See, plotting to take over the world is not that difficult. I could create a virus that turns everyone into zombies Ė just like that. Youíd be surprised how much your government is willing to pay for that sort of thing. Something about ultimate weapons and such; those details, I donít get into them. I could also unleash an evil monster that threatens the existence of every living person on this planet. Thatís the side that gets all the press, but in my opinion the day to day is far more interesting; and thatís what this is about Ė my way of getting through the work day. Waiting at the top floor for some tights-wearing, blue haired freak whoís trying to save the day can get quite boring at times.
For starters, good help is key. So I take out an ad in the local paper and conduct meet and greets (I learned long ago the word ďinterviewĒ scares off the type of people Iím looking for). Itís important that these underlings are no smarter than a high school dropout; I canít have them asking morally gray questions, now can I? I also prefer to get them in packs so twins, triplets, and quadruplets are ideal. Matching outfits is a must (they are a team, after all) and of course a chip on their shoulder is practically required. Thatís why I only hire thugs with names like Nails and Slag. These particular individuals are so angry at the world. Theyíre willing to punch anything and anyone that stands in front of them.
Enough about them though, because Iím the one that does most of the work. Iím the one that sends the threatening letters to would-be heroes. I kidnap girlfriends and princesses, and generally provoke everyone I can; all by myself. Who do you think prepares all those whole turkeys dinners? My men have to eat. When my henchmen are gathered, hidden in a dark alleyway (in strict single file formation, of course), waiting...and waiting...and waiting for anyone with a head to punch, they get very hungry. So I hide turkeys and burgers in trashcans, mailboxes, basically anything that can be punched into oblivion at a momentís notice. I canít make it too hard for my guys though; you know, high school dropouts and all that.
So you see, the food is for them Ė not Johnny Square Jaw. Yet, they never manage to find it themselves. Sir Saves-a-Lot usually comes and takes all the food for himself. This, as Iím sure you can understand, gets quite old; you can see why I try to handle things myself when I can. How do you think I got this body? Iíve had to work at it! Iíve trained myself to be the ultimate killing machine. Iíve practiced and perfected a strategy that tires my opponents while I stand there with practically double their health. I have this amazing front kick that can destroy anything in itís path. After about three vicious front kicks and a short spray of bullets from my rifle, I usually call in some guards to tire this Joe-do gooder out a bit while I rest and regain my strength. Once Iím at full health again (or close to it) I go back to my devastating, unstoppable attack of kicks and bullets; a few rounds of that always does the trick. I know what youíre thinking, what happens if I fail? What happens if some no name schmuck with an unreasonable amount of lives and hair trigger special attack were to take me down? Sorry to disappoint you, but I donít worry about those things. See, Iím a 16-bit boss, and thereís always a sequel. read