Clearly, this is a mandate

The results are in.

I am now the Scorloon Emperor for Life! No more red tape (for me). No more annoying minutia. Just a planet where my every whim is law. This will be great. The only downside is that I'm ruling Scoloons. They're... nice, I guess. It'd just be nice to actually be able to select an Empress that doesn't have exposed pulsating egg sacs, you know?

Also, I don't think they got the hang of what an election is. Maybe they don't have a proud democratic tradition, but this was a little shocking. There are something like 2 billion Sorloons on the planet, and I won by receiving one vote. From myself, of course.

Well, I hope they keep that level of civil involvement for rebellion when I lead their culture to disastrous ruin.

Vote or die!

The Super-Villain for Scorloon Emperor for Life campaign is going very strong. Okay, technically, this election is a sham that I cannot possibly lose, but it's rewarding to be out there meeting the people. Well, not really people. I'm on the road, shaking, er, "sucker-clasps" and kissing babies, um, "larva." Not really kissing in the conventional sense. Smiling at, maybe? But you can't really tell with my face mask on. So I suppose I glower for a few seconds at the grubs before they scurry off in fear and confusion. Ah, politics!

So vote Super-Villain for Emperor for Life! Or don't. It doesn't even matter. (Those are the best kinds of elections.)

A minor loophole

Of course! The whole Scorloon society is a tangled bureaucratic ball of Christmas lights. There are levels upon levels of redundant, useless committees. You have to fill out practically 15 pages of forms to go to the bathroom. They are a bloated, obsolete, decaying, intergalactic empire. But...

The whole thing is maintained with computers! And who has techno-pathy? Me!

So, I simply walked past the Scorloon Central Hive-Mind computer, used my awesome techno-pathic abilities, and *voila!* I am now a candidate (okay, the only candidate) for Scorloon Emperor for Life. It's a little disappointing that I didn't need a revolution by force, but I can't get caught up in style points. It's results that count.

Besides, there's time. Nothing says Emperor for Life like senseless public executions. Huzzah!

Motivation

I'm all moved in now. I've got the wide screen TV for monitoring my schemes/henchmen. (Currently still only in the "plotting" phases.) I've got a good supply of canned food and water for the next time some cosmological deity decides to crash its sun-eating ass into the city power grid. I've got my computer set up locked in and running some battle simulations against various heroes. I've got all of my spare machine parts in the "office." (Soon to be renamed. I haven't decided on which is better; "Den of Evil" or "Crime Lab". That would be where crimes are created, not solved.) And over there is the cot I found on a street corner where Z, the minion, (fitfully) sleeps.

Now to put plots into action. It got me thinking about motivation, why we villains do what we do.

For most of them, the motivation is the basic: cash. It's a trap though. You blast your way through a bank, collect a couple bags of money, and then... what? Where do you go from there? If you're a super-villain you can't just spend it, you're far too flamboyant to just walk into a store and buy your heart's desire. Plus, you're on the villain database and the latest edition of the Noticer's Guide, so you can't easily quietly slip off to retirement. You have to constantly battle authorities or super-heroes to keep your money. So then you end up spending it all on means to battle the heroes... it's a downward spiral, really.

Other villains are in it for revenge. That's all well and good. Certainly I have aspirations of blasting Green Hunter into non-existence, but that can't be your sole goal. Even if you succeed, it is only a fleeting accomplishment. Self-esteem is nice, but is it worth the potential death or injury. (Obviously, Green Hunter is the exception.)

Then, there's conquest. That's more up my alley. Remaking the world in your own image. A noble goal. Making the world a better place, really.

Then there's the poor saps who have devolved into semi-sentient threats. Your lumbering heaps of destruction that provide a nice punching bag for some dumb hero to slug away at. Some guy wanders into the wrong chemical plant and comes out a muck-beast of some sort, completely accidentally, and a "hero" get's his kicks out of punching the holy hell out of him until he blacks out from pain or injury? Who's the bad guy then? Bastards.

Yes, we're still doing "Five-Dolla' Fridays"

It seems as though it's been forever, but now, finally, the steps toward global domination have begun. While I have plans to conquer the world, and hopefully, all of reality, I do have some scores to settle. Some personal injuries that must be settled first.

I awoke early in morning and went to the departmental lounge and vaporized all of the copies of Johann's thesis papers. That's right, I have obliterated the culmination of 8 years of diligent study and writing! Now who's the brightest star at the University? The only glow now is emanating from your scorched theses! Ha, ha! I have also sent him an e-mail laced with a worm virus that will wipe out his computer's saved version of his work. (One must be thorough in this regard.) I neglected to inform him that I sent this e-mail with the power of my mind, but I think complete academic annihilation should suffice.

I am choosing to wait on the defeat of my own committee members. I have hopes of completely eliminating them from the timestream, but (unfortunately) I can't muster that power level. Yet! Yet.

But these are matters of the ephemeral mental realm. How about getting into the grimy, real world of doomsday machines and blasting the hell out of muscle-bound super-heroes? Well, no heroes (Yet! Yet.), but I have conquered my first parcel of real estate. The grand dominion has its humble origins in the conquest of The Pub!

Several years ago, some irritating bartender there refused my completely valid ID and refused to serve me my drink of choice. (Running a driver's license through the credit card machine doesn't prove if it's valid you moron!) On my birthday no less! This crime could not go unanswered, so I strapped into my battle-suit and marched in and declared myself the new ruler of the third most popular bar in this University town. Resistance was minimal. That is, it was, after I explained that I wasn't going to change any policies and business could proceed as usual. The student bartender (Derrick) said that Larry, the (previous) owner, was out of town. "He's usually gone for, like, a couple weeks. He'll come back and say he's got some new, great idea, or something. Just as long as I can keep my tips, it's cool with me." Yes Derrick, it is cool indeed. Very cool.