Yes, the much-awaited details of the latest nefarious plot of that accursed Mr. Mind, or as I call him, Dr. Worm (he’s not an real doctor but his is a real worm, he is an actual worm).
First I think I ought to divulge the methodology in the retrieval of aforementioned information. Try saying that ten times fast! I had to break a lot of skulls in a lot of airport smoke lounges to get some pretty flimsy leads. Then, to speed things up a bit, I broke the space-time continuum. This isn’t easy to do, mind you, but I had to traverse the tumultuous years ahead. The hardest part is the fasting and water-binging for two days or so before each trip, believe it or not. I had to travel into the near future and also to such God-forsaken places as Phoenix and L.A., so that I could learn and hopefully later impart crucial knowledge to my close friends and family that would protect them in the terrible days to come. I do not expect to fail in the process of foiling Mr. Mind, but then again, he doesn’t expect to be foiled either. Neither one of us can count too much on the other, then, can we? Remember, the road to hell is paved with vintage lunchboxes, but that has nothing to do with this! Pay attention, dammit!
This is what I learned:
Mr. Mind is actually from a parallel and surreal dimension of insane (and some argue inferiorly crafted) “fiction” nonsense, as well as one planet over. Upon landing in our reality, he immediately sought to accomplish two things, One; to re-form his infamous Monster Society of Evil by employing the sad, frustrating, but equally devious villains of our planet and immediate solar system. Two; to squelch any possible interloping by do-gooder Billy Batson, coincidentally their World’s Mightiest Mortal.
Unfortunately, (or not, it’s a matter of perspective), Batson does not exist in our version of reality, as neither did Mr. Mind himself. In fact, many of Mr. Mind’s favorite delicatessens and movie parlours are not where they should be, further fueling his malice. Not understanding the cosmic rift that deposited him here, nor the sudden changes in this suddenly dissimilar universe, Mr. Mind began to search for Batson using a variety of telepathic methods, spy networks, government databases, Google Earth and wikipedia. Starting in Batson’s hometown of Fairfield, which had incongruously been decimated by an atom bomb by Mr. Mind in his own dimension, he searched for any super-powered or otherwise noteworthy individuals from this sleepy 89.86% White populated suburb.
So it stood to reason that he would discover me. I haven’t exactly hidden myself from society. Various battles with Mythical Chinese Dragons, paranormal research, centralised power surges, failed sketch comedy pilots, countless message board trolling, and knock-down drag-out fights with multidimensional shades and demons have all seen to that. And they bite! And while it might be fair to put me in the running for ‘World’s Mightiest Mortal’ in this world, anyway, there are plenty of more deserving candidates for Mr. Mind’s replacement arch-rival. My powers pale in comparison to those of Bruce “If Chins Could Kill” Campbell, Jim Vivas (Viking God of teh Roxors), the Beastie Boys, the Aquabats, Dr. Tasty, or maybe even Mark Mothersbaugh. There are also numerous underrated heroes at the street level, not to be discounted, like Crazy-Pants, the Southside Santa, the Worst Ninja Ever, the Crazy Running Lady, George, or the Bloomfield Dancing Man.
In fact, part of what confounds me the most is that I wasn’t even the only global power around the region. In my graduating class alone, we had a shadow ninja, a mad scientist, telekinetic mutant, amateur inventor of super-robots, dabbler in ‘teh force’, and invincible extraterrestrial, (what up, Andrew? me? oh, just holdin’ it down, you know how we do).
How he first reached me, I don’t know. It may have been through the mental manipulation of my landlord, but then again she may have just been a bitch anyway. I could have been the persecution of friends and roommates through various judicial, financial and hospitalization means. Suddenly, word came from a mysterious source (okay, it was Rabbi Silver), that in order to protect my friends from fates worse than Peppi’s, I must exile myself to Ohio and points west, in search of higher wages and greater wisdom in the fight against evil. He didn’t exactly say it like that, but it kind of loses something when translated from the Yiddish. More importantly, to all my relations, it was crucial that things seem natural. So I threw a mediocre party, cheaped out on moving costs, and took back my records. Then into the abysmal black hole of Ohio, from which few return, on a journey that could easily spell certain death. But at least I got to watch E3 with my cousin and LAN party with my chums for the release of Halo 3.
Anyways, it was after months of grueling toil in an Evendale Radioshack establishing a new secret identity and myspace page that I was able to do most of my research into Mr. Mind’s workings in and around Fairfield. Mind you (no pun intended), I was a good few months behind him, and had to work hard to uncover his hidden tracks, he had made some glaring errors. His compulsive conquering had led him to run for School Board, momentarily possessing the mind of Arnold Engle, with an outrageous plan to shoot down even more school levies. Luckily, a coalition of Warrior X (at least that’s what he called himself when I knew him), “Jungle” Jim Bonamino, and Joe Nuxhall managed to send the miserable worm out-of-state with his tail between his… well, uh… so then he left, anyways. Armed with the information I needed, and sick of relying on my grandfather for transportation, I continued my journey whilst under the ruse of vacation time from Radioshack. Only when I was on the other side of the nation would I call in and tender my resignation. Hopefully, the clever employees of that location will be too distracted by their bumbling store manager and impromptu district manager visits to discover the quantum deatomization restructuralizer I worked out of their parts drawers and ipod display. I would have taken it with me, but I had already lifted a little Hexbug toy and a handful of gold doubloons, and didn’t want to push my luck.
From there, I was able to regroup on the West Coast, and then head for my mission in Phoenix where I was to ‘visit some friends.’ In actuality, I was to meet with an unnamed informant, whom we shall refer to as ‘Dasypus Novemcinctus,’ who I convened with for the moment I was able to break away from my friend at the Phoenix zoo. In Los Angeles, I was to reconnoiter the headquarters of the Monster Society, and though turned away due to their stringent dress code, I was able to accomplish my primary goals; establish the hierarchy of command in the organization, identify the principle members as well as their comings, goings, and shift changes, and Bluesnarf their mainframe while stealing high-speed wireless from all their base. Thank you once again, Radioshack! (and wikipedia.)
Monster Society of Evil? What kind of a name is that? Besides being only slightly less redundant that the Department of Redundancy Department, I’ve never understood the utility in naming your organisation bent on world dominion with such foreboding, like SPECTRE, or the League of Assassins, or the Empire of Death, or the Legion of Doom. Why, I can’t say I seez no sense in it! Hardly anybody brands themselves as ‘evil,’ let alone ‘monsters,’ and a whole society of them accept this moniker? Granted, its a terrorist organisation, intent on instilling fear into the nations of the world, but what’s your SIDE of the story? Surely you feel that your actions and position are not only justifiable, but in fact reasonably righteous. You have to have some BELIEFS. Even that crazy nut who laughs maniacally on my street corner at three in the morning thinks that he’s providing a public service.
To make a long story slightly less long, I can afford to keep quiet no longer. Having seen the future, I know that now the time is ripe to reveal Mind’s scheme to the world, and pray that the powers of the world can do what they can, or haven’t been done in by his subterfuge already. Here goes: Mr. Mind has been planning to hemorrhage large stockpiles of LEGOs through various worldwide pipelines, with which he will not only be able to construct armor, weaponry, and multiple artificial floating island bases, but also dominate a monopoly on this valuable finite resource. Other various aspects of his intrigue include the systematic destruction of LEGO wholesalers, warehouse raids, large eBay purchases, and finally, the well-coordinated yet tragic bombings of LEGOLands worldwide, which will effectively place all LEGO resources in the feelers of that dastardly Mind. Then, once the stock market and retail outlets are in a fervor over what to do, he will flood the market, devaluing the US Dollar and sending the major world powers into depression and economic tailspin. After that, though details are sketchy and sources even moreso, a bilateral attack will occur on our technological and military infrastructure, forcing the human race into a primitive nomadic culture. And not the raucous Gogol Bordello-styled quirky nomadic culture we’ve all dreamed about, but a sort of pathetic Eloi ripe for totalitarian domination and the intergalactic slave trade. And while some of you are just asking for it, its really going to be pretty bad. Without getting too detailed… uh… Rod Serling bad… suffice it to say it would be better if we kind of pooled our efforts on this one, guys.
In short order, I will reveal to each of you your instrumental parts to play in this cosmic game of chess, for not only your own survival but that of the very WORLD! (Except you, Lee. Your instructions will just be for your own survival. Sorry. The world doesn’t need the sort of help that you bring to the table. Trust me on this.)
And why conquer the Earth, anyways? Everybody’s always trying to conquer the Earth. Take it from somebody who lives there: Erth is Dum. And I’m totally not just saying that in some reverse psychology ploy to convince any would-be conquerors that the Earth is only SEEMINGLY not worth conquering. I mean, I am really sincerely genuinely honestly synonym when I say, this planet is an embarrassment to conquerable heavenly bodies. I would conquer Krylon-6, whose inhabitants not only imbue their conquerors with great self-esteem, but also make better pelts. Or the Great Spacefence of the Outer Bic Galaxy, which will literally give you powers over life and death, and has the fine distinction of being the only tourist spot in the known universe to have NEVER been conquered. Eh? How about that shit! What have we got? A measly yellow sun that can *temporarily* grant some *demi*-god-*like* superpowers. Great. So what? It only works if you stay here, and who wants to stay here? Ever since Kennedy got assassinated, the Soviet Union collapsed, and they cancelled Arrested Development, things here have been pretty lame. Oh, the girls are pretty cool, I guess, if you want a nice conversation about wine and a little light petting. But we all know there are sexier spacebabes with longer tongues and shorter inhibitions out there. Ever been to the Liquitex Nebula? OH, LEWD NOISE!!
I mean, I’m not worried for me. I can just bounce to my Omniverse crib. Great view of the Lake of St. Flckni’tpxx. And I have a standing offer at this awesome Polynesian pop shop in the dream realm. It’s minimum wage, but minimum wage in the dream realm is whatever you want it to be.
TIPS TO PROTECT YOURSELF FROM THE MONSTER SOCIETY OF EVIL IN ’08:
Hoard your LEGOs.
Practice the martial arts, or at the very least, hit the sticks and work on your Fight Night moves.
Don’t allow yourself to become possessed by the forces of evil. Try not to leave your house if you think you might be.
If you see a monster, assume the worst. While we all would like to think we live in politically correct times. Sometimes we have to see the seven-headed hydra as a seven-headed hydra. It is easier to apologize than to regenerate.
Memorize bad poetry. You’d be surprised.
Get a cat. They’re excellent protection from the forces of evil. Unless you have an evil cat.
Stay away from evil cats.
Wear steel-toed boots.
Don’t trust whitey.
Stop the Earth from imploding when applicable.
If you see something, tell someone!
Stock up on plastic sheeting and distilled water.
Keep your chin up. Mr. Mind is short, and this will make it harder for him.
Carry a subatomic raygun. It’s hard to get a permit, but it is your right as an American.
At night, wear that reflective bike shit. It’s just a good idea, anyway.
Crouch behind a rock. (I’m talking to you, Lee!)
Write your congressman.
Never have nightmares.
Carry a flashlight.
Don’t vote Republican.
Buy volcano insurance.
Buy Black Death Ray insurance.
Back up your MP3 collection.
Wear mystical amulets. Failing that, wear mystical Reeboks.
Don’t believe everything you read or see on television. In fact, don’t believe anything you read or see on television.
Try to be as immortal as you can in these situations.
Drink a glass of wine every night.
Keep your friends close, and suspicious Nazi supersoldiers closer.
Buy some insecticide, or maybe a flyswatter.
If you find your mind being taken over, think of They Might Be Giants songs, they will totally get stuck in the mind of whomever just took yours, and its a nice parting shot.
Beat up squatters. This actually does nothing to protect you from the Monster Society of Evil, but it couldn’t hurt, either.
Don’t engage in class warfare. Don’t you see he’s just pitting us against one another?
Keep an ear and eye open for recent assaults on LEGO storehouses.
Practice your rationing and nomadic skills. It could save you in a Harlan Ellison-styled post-apocalyptic future, and looks good on a resume.
Don’t take part in any deterraforming clubs, no matter what ‘work from home’ or ‘make millions’ BS they feed you.
If you are in possession of magical, future-telling pearls, don’t let that shit out of your sight for an instant! Show a little foresight!
If you’re like me and think the Monster Society of Evil might be on to you, invest in some plastic surgery. I would, but I can’t even afford LASIK, and that’s been first on my list since way before all this.
Have somebody else start your car for you. When possible, have somebody else taste your soup for you, as well.
Don’t use 4-1-1. Not even that 1-800-FREE-4-1-1 shit.
Watch the Rockford Files. Learn.
Tell your loved ones how much you love them.
Worst comes to worst, we’ll meet up at the Super Wal*Mart.
Make some friends in other dimensions or faraway planets. They might come in useful come June.