Monday, December 3, 2012


Maybe I missed my calling.

Maybe I drifted into being a horror writer because deep down I knew I was supposed to be a super-villain.

I think I could have been a pretty good super-villain. I would have dressed nice for the part, and always carried the role with dignity. I would have avoided excessive monologueing, kept my airducts small and uncrawlable, an never allowed a self-destruct button within a thousand miles of me.

But I would have insisted on a shark tank.

Because if you're going to have evil henchmen, you've gotta have a shark tank. Nothing says, "You have failed me for the last time," like a short, exciting swim with the sharks. And it's a great motivator too.

Or maybe I really wasn't cut out to be a super villain.

Maybe I just wanted a shark tank.


  1. This is the new era. A super villains with a shark tank would find himself the recipient of multiple lawsuits from any number of animal rights groups on behalf of the sharks. And feeding said animal rights activists to the sharks would only work for a little bit before the sharks rebelled and insisted on a better-tasting diet!

  2. Well, if I can't have a shark tank, then forget it. There's not much point without the shark tank >:(

  3. I hear ya, I always wanted a secret lair, and a cannon attached to the roof of my car. Not that I would use the cannon, but the threat of a cannon blast might make the other drivers on the road a little wary of cutting me off. The closet thing I got to a secret lair was a corner in the hall with a writing desk.

  4. A car cannon would be nice. Unfortunately, here in Houston I would be too tempted to use it.