Nemonok: Super Happy Destructive Robot Time Go

“Gather around, my minions; it is time to prepare for the next challenge.”

Heh heh, having minions is nice. I can see why my dark lord Galactor the Evil Galactic Overlord has so many.

“What are we doing this time, boss?” Apocalypto Pickle asked.

“We must build a giant robot of doom. And as an additional proverbial wrench in the cog, a Lieutenant Commander Oneida will be judging. Therefore, I would like all of you to say something nice about our guest judge in order to get into her good graces.”

“You want to get on her good side?” asked Bob the Goon. “We could bribe her maybe.”

“Or maybe we could kidnap her and release her only when she agrees that we won the challenge!” Iron Butterfly suggested.

“Idiot,” Gun Nut spat. “How is she going to rule in our favor when she’s kidnapped?”

“I dunno,” Butterfly shrugged.

“Enough, my henches. Let me give you a little class in psychology 101. All humans like to be complimented. It’s that simple. It puts them at ease and it allows them the opportunity to feel appreciated. The fact that we are quite and unusual group—”

“What?” interupted Gun Nut.

“No!” injected Butterfly.

“No no, it’s true. I am sure we are somewhat atypical to what she considers normal or standard. Anyway, remember that she is clearly too intelligent and sophisticated to fall for an insincere compliment, so everyone please compliment our judge and keep it real, as they say.”

“Uh, OK,” Bob the Goon thought for a moment. “She’s real pretty, I’d like to take her out to dinner. Maybe we could get some shrimp. See? I keep sayin’ shrimp. That’s no coincidence.”

“Uh yeah, pretty,” Apocalypto Pickle added. “Real stylish, too. Her clothes are uh uh uh.”

He made a snapping motion in a Z pattern for emphasis.

“Yeah, I like her hair,” Gun Nut said. “I’d like to know who does it.”

“Yeah her hair,” Butterfly offered. “I sure would like to smell her pretty hair.”

“OK, that was borderline creepy but I think it will get the job done. Now, we must get going on our journey and we must hurry as it is apparent that that strung out female robot judge does not have the attention span of a Gernelian gnat.”

“Yeah? So where are we going?” asked Butterfly.

“We are going to the one place where giant robots of doom are as common as an Orwelian street rat on an Orwelian street. And that is the island of Japan.”

My crew of henches and I quickly flew to Japan in my Shadow Stealthship where I quickly used the technology and radioactive materials readily available there to construct the grandest of giant evil robots ever designed.
“It’s amazing,” Gun Nut said in awe.

“It’s incredible,” Iron Butterfly added as he stared up at the giant automaton.”

“That crotch, it’s so huge,” Pickle added. “Er, I mean, the whole thing is huge. It’s a giant robot and all.”

“Now to enact the second part of my plan! Giant Evil Robot, smash the building!”

The monster obeyed my command and crashed through one of the buildings of downtown Tokyo.

“That’s it?” Gun Nut asked. “It’s just going to smash the city up? That seems rather pedestrian.”

“Of course wanton destruction is rather blasé, but that’s just the beginning. There should be a good robot or monster flying in shortly to defend the city.”

“There it is.” Gun Nut pointed to the skies. “A big blue one.”

The robotic titan landed in front of my robot. They went through a series of elaborate moves, chopping the air and stomping the ground before they began fighting each other.

“OK, they’re fighting,” Butterfly said. “I mean, they’re huge. It’s an awesome battle and all, but now what?”
“Everyone, keep your eyes open.”

“For what?” asked Bob the Goon. “What’re we lookin’ for?”

“Over there. That boy with the remote and the short pants.”

“The kid next to the creepy old man? What about him?” asked Pickle. “You want me to go get ‘um?”

“No. Just watch.”

With another electronic command sent to my robot, the door in its stomach slid open and the contents contained within spilled out.

“What’re those?” Bob squinted up at the robot.

“They look like—” Gun Nut’s voice trailed off.

“Jeans?” Butterfly rubbed his eyes and looked again. “Yeah, they’re blue jeans.”
“Are they poisoned?” asked Pickle.

“Mind control jeans?” asked Gun Nut.

“No, just jeans. All of the monsters and giant robots of this island nation seem to have child companions who always run around in those shorts. I find the fashion rather disconcerting, but then again, I have little need for pants myself.”

“So you’re just going to give them jeans?” Gun Nut asked.

“That doesn’t seem all that evil,” added Pickle.

“Of course I am just giving them jeans. This child will take a pair, then the next, then the next. Soon every child in this nation will be wearing these blue jeans. These western blue jeans.”

“Yeah? So,” shrugged Butterfly.

“These pants will bring this nation to its knees. The elders won’t understand the fashion and it will spin from there. Jeans beget teens wearing yellow wigs and orange makeup, that will beget youth dressing up like their favorite cartoon characters. Tentacle fetishes, bad karaoke, and fuzzy pink Hello Kitty backpacks will all come from this. This once proud culture of ronin, princesses, and dragons will crawl to a halt under the weight of its own junk. Fifty years from now, this will be an island wasteland.”

“I, I guess that’s a good plan…” Bob stammered.

“Yeah, but we don’t have 50 years to watch it play out, man,” Pickle complained.

“Yeah, what are we s’pposed to do ‘til then?” Bob asked.

“Heh. You people have no style.”

AOC: Robots & Coffee & Lt. Cmdr ... Oh My

“Tak …. Tak are you in here?” the Lt. Cmdr voice drifted into my office.

I jumped to attention and let her know where I was. She walked in to the room looking stunning in a casual outfit.


SHE IS SO CUTE …. I MEAN COMMANDING

“Tak, I just wanted to say hi. I haven’t seen you in a bit. I this is soooo cool I get to be a judge. I like judging you!” she purred

I pull off my helmet and smile debonairly at her.

“Tak”

“Yes”

“Tak”

“Yes, Lt Cmdr?”

“Tak, can I come closer and tell you something”

“Yes” I say breathlessly. I feel like I am shaking.

“TAK!!!!!!! Wake up!! And why in tarnation do you keep saying yes? And did you know you are drooling all over the evil robot plans?” Gabby says shaking me.

I look over the robot plans that have been submitted by the top R&D people at Starbucks. They enter the room to await my questions.

The first robot doesn’t look like much.


STARBUCKER T-800

“So what is so evil about this robot?” I ask

Faceless Starbuck R&D guy # 1 starts talking. “This is the auto barista T-800. We could put it in all the Starbuck and we would never need human barista again!” he attempts an evil cackle, but ends up coughing.

“While the thought of out of work barista spending their day in search of other meaningless work is appealing to me, it is not very evil in the long run.” I tell him. Dejected he leaves the office.

R&D guy # 2 steps up and unveils his evil robot.


IF THIS THING SAY DEEBEE DEEBEE DEE. SOMEONE IS GETTING KILLED.

R&D guy # 2 jumps right in, “As you can see this is an improvement on the T-800. It will displace barista and it can sing a happy sappy song that customer will not be able to get out of their heads. The only thing that can stop the pain of the song is more Tak’s Coffee. The song choice is between My Hump or You Are The Wind Beneath My Wings.”

I nod to Gabby, who cold-cock R&D guy #2 and drags him off to a cell. That kind of evil cannot be released on this planet.

Samantha walks in. “Boss, I have been working on the robots, using the starting point of the Starbuck R&D guys. I think I have come up with a evil robot that can also make us money.”

“You have robot making skills?” I scoff lightly

“Yes, I do. Using the knowledge I have gained through my merit badges on Atomic Energy, Electronic, and entrepreneurship I think I have a great plan.” She scoffs right back at me.




I GUESS SHE DOES HAVE THE SKILLS.

Samantha’s Robot comes into the room.


LOOKS LIKE AN EVIL ROBOT.

“So the plan is basic. We use Robot Terror at the coffees shops. Customers will be intrigued by the newness of the Robots and would come anyway due to being addictied to Tak’s Coffee. On every third or fourth customer the robots will “accidentally” spill coffee on them. We will claim it is a software flaw caused by Microsoft and are working on the problem.”

“I speak up. “Samantha, while I like the idea of spilling hot coffee on Yuppies and Soccer Moms, does it measure up to being evil?”

“But that is where we end up making money, because where ever we have a Starbucks, we will be opening one of these. I have already leased over 300 spaces.” She say as she drops a picture on my desk.



Brilliantly Evil. I love this stuff. I give Samantha and Gabby the go sign.

Koma forgot something

I was out partying with my main girls, Dixie and DJ Cathrine Wheelz. It was a great party and everyone was getting up and catching onto the toonz we were spining (I'm really getting into the DJ lingo).

Then DJ Cathrine played a piece she called "Late Deadline." It features a sample of Magneto singing Three Little Maids from School. Wheelz recorded it when Koma gave him to us cause he forgot to post in the first round.

I remembered that Koma forgot something about this round.

He forgot to tell everyone when the deadline for posting in this round was.

I rushed out of the nightclub and took the first car I saw.
I had to tell Koma as soon as possible. If the players didn't know when they had to post. It could be horrible. Without a deadline Nemonock would never finish, it would just be - to be continued at the end of every post. I was thinking about the horror of Nemonock's never ending story so much that I had a little accident.
It wasn't bad just that it got on the news and everyone thought I was Lindsay. Its a common mistake for people to make.
"The easy way to work out whether I'm Lindsay is to ask the following question." I tell the Sargent who was first on the scene.
"And just whats that question?" he asks in a gruff tone.
"Can Lindsay Lohan teleport out of here?" I tell him.
"Now what kind of stupid question is that Miss Lohan." snaps the Sargent. "You celebrities think you can get away with anything."
"Goodbye officer I'm not Lindsay." I tell him.
"Ugh! Goodbye. Girl, the only place your going is downtown." he responds.
I give him a little wave and -!voip! - I'm gone.

"Damn!" replies the Sargent.

I tell Koma that he forgot the deadline.

He panics, then Henchy calms him down and tells him that all he has to do is e-mail the four remaining players. Henchy is so good to Koma. I wonder when Henchy is going to tell Koma how he really feels for him. They'd make a nice couple.

I got back to the party and DJ Cathrine Wheelz and I rocked the Casbah.

Reprezent!

Greetings From The Judge

Hi everybody, I’ll be your judge this week. *sees Tak and waves enthusiastically* Don’t worry, I’ll be totally impartial *sees Mr. Bennet and waves* I feel that with my experience in the Galactic Navy of the Republic, I’ve had some experience with robots, most of whom weren’t evil, but were controlled by evil people. But I’ve also had some experience with just straight up crazy evil robots *sees Gyrobo and waves*. So everyone work hard, do your best, and we’ll see what you come up with *see Nemonok and looks a bit confused, resists urge to add some fish food to brain tank*

Challenge Number 5

Ok now you all have been told that there is a guest judge this round who's going to be handing out immunity. Oneida is here and she's going to be watching all of you very closely.

Tak - How close? I better have a shower and buy some new clothes. Oh I'm so nervous I'm sweating right now.

Neemonock - Are you sure this judge will be impartial.

Buttler - Yeah she and the clone have history.

Gyrobo - His crush for her is so big one can carve it out of an iceberg. I did that with my first love. I flew it by helicopter over her house and dropped it on the house. Unfortunately she was in the house at the time. I was crushed.

She'll be ok.

Now for your challenge.

Build a big Robot of Doom.

Use your resident evil genius (not me) from your organsiation you took over last round. And build a good robot to bring terror to the world.

Let the evil continue!

Who wants to be Super-Villain is brought to you by Evil Eddie's robots.

The decision - by Lin

"Well the votes in." Said Koma to us all in the judges lounge.

"Can I give the verdict to the players and all?" I begged. "Please!!!!!"

"Sure Lin you can do it." ageed Koma.

I read who it was and thought the best way was to tell the looser to his face.

- knock knock-

I knocked at the looser's room.

"Yes Lin. What do you want?" asked the Magneto.

"Guess who lost." I ask.

"Gyrobo?" said Magneto.

"No guess again." I chirped.

"That anti-christ Butter?" he enquired.

"WRONG AGAIN." I shouted. "Its you. So pack your bags and get out of here."

"You are not a Super Villain!"

Then I went and found this guy and we bashed him.

Ah! I like days like these.

The Vote - I voted for Kevin

In Australia voting is MANDATORY. Yes thats right if your registered to vote and you don't you can go to gaol in my country. Ah! such sweet enforced freedom. My sunburnt country a land of sweeping plains, where we have no bill of rights, and the indigenous population live in third world conditions. And you think you leader is a villain.

Oh well John Howard is gone and now one of you will be soon.

So vote or else you may not be playing in the next round.

Its going to be judged by our guest judge Onieda.

So get voting or else you'll end up not playing. Well you could vote and not play either.

Ah! who cares.

Who's leaving this game?
	Neemonock
	Mr Buttler
	Gyrobo
	Magneto
pollcode.com free polls

Jugdement time,sucka's

Ladies and Gents,


Wow....I do have to say. All of you dug deep and found something rotten to join. I am proud. No, not really. I was underwhelmed. You guys are so preachy. All of you are trying to be the worst of the worst. There is much power in the dark side, enjoy it.

Dr.Nemonok; You took a while to get to the point. Your choice of who to join,was good, once you got there. Old Dick is sure is a mean sob. I, would had Gun Nut plug him in the rear for fun. I hear he likes that type of thing.

Tak; Your henchman are going to end up killing each other(thats a good thing). I would watch out for Samantha. If you are not careful, you'll end up with a ginger snap in the throat. Overall, good job.

Mr. Butler; You scare me. That is a really good thing. You always are willing to lie,cheat and steal. To be a true villain, you have to go to place that other are afraid. You did that in shades. Good Show.

Magento; Here, you had a chance to do something grand. Yet, you didn't, you went back to the Brotherhood,like an a desperate girlfriend. You let me down, more than a weekend Dad.

Gyrobo; WTH? Somewhere in there is a brilliant evil mind. I couldn't use my GPS and I got lost in your wonderful madness.

Now the winner. Out the five,two of you are making it fight. It came down to this.

We don’t have time to build a real customer base, so I have to load the coffee with tasteless nicotine, 5X the regular amounts of caffeine, heroin and that stuff at the center of a tootsie pop.

Brilliant.

The winner is Tak.



Dental for all.

M.O.D.O.K. sucks.

Lost & Foundry

“I couldn’t possibly have any more... I want to say ‘octopus...’” Rubbing her belly, Jalas politely pocketed another handful of the squirming creature. These Regionals sure have some strange appetizers!

“And I’ll have the beef strudel,” my stomach growled at the stationary maître d’. He (clearly a he, female Regionals have short nose hair) sniffed at me suspiciously and set off to the kitchen, a bloody towel draped over his left shoulder blade in the traditional manner.

If you’ve never been sniffed by a Regional, the trick is avoiding eye contact. Not between your eyes and their eyes, for you see (pun intended) they have no eyes. It’s strictly echolocation. Tiny holes around the base of their necks, some emit the sound, others accept the waves.

And in the area where a human face would be are four (five in childhood) nostrils. When they all flare up in unison to sniff you... well, let’s just say I’ve been through two pairs of glasses.

“Put the polycarbonate on my tab,” a chillingly tortured voice rasped from the potted plants.

In lieu of shivering, I siphoned off my excess adrenaline for later. One of R & D’s latest projects in a fear-powered hovercraft and I would be a hypocrite if I didn’t pitch in.

Jalas had no such reservations.

“Zapf. I vowed over the burning ruins of Caldera that you would... know... strudel...” She threatened, becoming increasingly distracted by the waiter returning with my dinner. No Novan can resist another man’s strudel.

“Hermann Zapf, fontographer! How’s that Foundry of yours doing?” I inquired pleasantly. Too pleasantly.

“I’m retired,” Zapf grinned, twirling a wine stem betwixt his fore and aft-fingers. “Although I do keep busy.”

“You sold the Calderans their fonts!” Jalas screamed. “They never would’ve posed a threat if not for those begotten fonts!”

“Restrain yourself or the light won’t blink off,” I said, tapping my portable dashboard. One of the table legs vibrated and I handed Jalas the attached phone; my arch-enemy the Generic Canadian had recently started a telemarketing campaign directed at all international airbases.

Humming disconnectedly, Zapf reached into the potted plant behind him and unearthed some yellowed papers. He proceeded to look them over and hum while Jalas stared at him murderously. I took advantage of the unexpected break to look around the landing bay.

Less than a week since we’d declared our rented airship an international refugee base, hundreds of people had come by biplane, triplane, hot air balloon... enhanced ostrich? We get all sorts here. All come looking for a better life, and as the self-appointed diplomatic head, that burden is ultimately mine.

Fortunately I’m trying to be evil so I don’t have to care about any of them.

A group of young Regionals and some of my less faithful Naven henchmen were gathering by the cardboard boxes piled to separate the main galley from the toiletry bucket. Each Naven was wearing the standard issue garb: a bright orange jumpsuit and tennis shoes; the Regionals wore ragged animal skins over sinewy coats of grime. One of them had six nostrils. Freak!

“Are you a betting man?” Zapf asked. Veins bulged on his eyeballs.

“I’m a betting man than you.”

He laid five cards out on the tabletop. Each had a different sentence written on it:

“Sphinx of black quartz, judge my vow!”
Adjusting quiver and bow, Zompyc killed the fox.
Few quips galvanized the mock jury box.
“Now! Fax... quiz Jack,” my brave ghost pled.
Five quacking (!) zephyrs jolt my wax bed.

“Which one doesn’t belong?”

My goatee trembled. “That one... no, that... no, I was right, that one,” I held up the first card.

“Why that one?” He fanned out the remaining four, unconsciously tracing the characters with an invisible pencil.

“Simple... this one, you can tell from its diagonal stress that it’s an old-style serif font. This one has a huge disparity in line width, it’s definitely a modern serif. This one is smack dab in the middle, totally Timesian. And this one... oh, I just love slab serifs! Beautiful and underappreciated.”

“Why that one?” he repeated. “What makes this card different?”

I knew the Regionals couldn’t understand speech very well but this conversation was turning personal, so I set off a series of supersonic longitudinal waves. The kitchen staff fled in terror, running blindly into walls and furniture.

“Clearly, those letters are all the same width. Though it has serifs, it is technically monospaced.” Leaning back, I congratulated myself on a job adequately done.

Using his tongue like a boneless arm, Zapf snatched the phone from Jalas and brought it to his fuzzy earhole. “She’ll call you back later,” he slurred, beads of greenish saliva warping the plastic case’s coloring as gravity guided them home.

“How uncouth!” my second-in-command commented conceitedly, counting the contradictions of our company’s casual cordiality and (currently) condemnable churlishness.

“Yes. Button your tongue,” I chimed alongside her chide.

Zapf picked up the table (an incredible feat for an old man, considering it was bolted down) and punched it so hard that several reams of paper fell to the floor. “No.”

“Fair enough.” I stammered hastily. “Do I win?”

“Your observation was correct,” the geriatric German grimaced. “So I’m giving you my library card. With it, you can open any door at my offshore foundry by San Serriffe.”

Courtseying, I delicately took the card in my palm. An uneasy feeling coursed through my appendix. “Isn’t San Serriffe ruled by General Pica? A tinpot dictator with dreams of conquest and boundless brutality?”

Laughing ominously, Zapf sulked toward the latrine. With a single pinky, he bust the sink up pretty badly; then with both hands and a foot, peeled the back wall like an orange and slid down the pipes. The faint sound of rotors and an occasional karate chop could be heard from beneath the floorboards.

“That was an awful lot of trouble to go through for a library card,” Jalas grumbled, finally recognizing the right of the paper reams to exist. “We got into Zapf’s foundry, but now we’ve got to deal with some kind o’ Ozymandias wannabe?! What is so important about this foundry?”

By all rights I should have struck her down where she stood, but something about her drawn dagger gave me pause.

“Canada, Jalas.” I turned my head to draw her attention to the world map hung over the cardboard room divisor. My nemesis’ non-face was drawn boldly over the tundra. “The San Serriffe Foundry is within striking distance of Canada.”

“What of the Generalissimo?”

“That was in the 70’s. They’re a democracy now.”

“You just said...!”

“Times change, you naive Novan! Secure the railings! Rally the Navens!” A blood-red cape with black spirals sprouted from my shoulders. “And find me a puppy to drown!”

Man, this library card is burning a hole in my pocket.

Magneto makes some friends

Join an evil organization? Bah! Magneto does not join - he conquers! The only question is which of the myriad bad guy enterprises shall I allow to benefit from my brilliant leadership?



I have found that the most reliable source for identifying weakened organizations ripe for taking over is the Super Villain Weekly. The help wanted section in the back will tell you who has been routed lately. I leaned back in my evil easy chair and snapped open the paper.

























The first item was a help wanted for COBRA. Apparently GI Joe had captured both the Commander and Serpentor and no one else there knew where the key to the Terror Drome was. Believe me, I have no interest in leading an army of soldiers with unlimited ammunition that can't hit a man twenty feet away.

The next piece was for an immediate opening for the Chief Executive of FEMA. Please. They are more incompetent than COBBRA.

The third bit was interesting though. Apparently the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants was recruiting. My Brotherhood of Evil Mutants. I suppose I have to blame myself. I never bothered letting them know I had managed to sneak my way out of Hell. They probably thought I was still dead.

I left my Henchmen with explicit instructions to make my headquarters more . . macho. Then I hopped in a cab and levitated to the Brotherhood's new HQ. Turned out to be a trailer in the back of a Wendy's parking lot in Patterson, New Jersey. My team had fallen on hard times indeed since I died. I knew they would be over-joyed to see me again.

"Oh no! Not this guy again!" wailed the Blob as he tossed aside a used Baconator wrapper.

"Oh great! There goes our health insurance premiums!' moaned Master Mind.

"What are you talking about?" I protested. "Your great and glorious leader has returned!"

"Why?" asked Avalanche. "What did we ever do to you?"

"Yeah!' chipped in Toad. "What do you want from us anyway?"

I drew in a deep breath and raised my arms dramatically. "Why . . to attack the X-Men, of course!"

They all groaned. "Come Magneto," said the Blob. "How many times do they have to kick our asses before we stop attacking them."

"Well if you don't want to do bad guy things like attack super heroes, why did you place that ad in the paper?" I asked.

"We want to do bad guy things," Master Mind said. "We just want to do easier bad guy things."

"Yeah," agreed Toad. "Things that won't get us so beat up all the time."

I thought for a moment. "Well how about fighting the Village People. Do you think you could handle that?"

My troops looked around at each other for a moment and then all broke out into smiles. "Yeah,. let's do that!" they all shouted as one.

We all piled back into the cab and flew back to my fortress. The Brotherhood rushed in, blood in their eyes. I immediately froze. My henchmen had indeed redecorated, though it was definitely not what I meant by more "macho".


















Loud, pounding techno music started. The Village People came out with food platters. Blob rushed forward and started to help himself to the food. The other mutants started dancing.

Great. Just great. I'm going back to my command center.

Mission Four: Holy Organization

Join an evil organization. That was the mission. Ha! Been there, done that. I was once middle management at Primatech Paper Company. What's so evil about paper, you ask? I don't know, but evil it was!

Too bad I'm on the run from the company, otherwise I could just rejoin it and win this stupid challenge. Instead, I'll have to infiltrate a new evil organization, one without paper.

There's only one organization out there deserving of my time. It's perhaps the meanest, toughest, most powerful organization in the world. It brought us The Crusades, The Inquisition, and the most vile, frail woman I've ever known, Mother Teresa.

Yes. I'm going after The Vatican, Holy Mother Church, Babylon's Prostate.

"But the Catholic Church is not evil," The Haitian pointed out.

"Not evil?" I asked. "An organization controlled by one man in perhaps the biggest hat on the entire planet that tells people not to have sex, not to read Harry Potter and forces them to eat their god once a week isn't evil??"

Having worked in the paper business for so long, I knew a thing or two about document dating (not dinner and a movie dating, historical dating). I put my skills to work on what would become the biggest deception since Global Warming.

My insidious document was sent off with The Haitian and my cheerleaders to the San Diego Natural History Museum. That was the current location of the famed Dead Sea Scrolls.

The Cheerleaders used their grace and acrobatic skills (Hmm...I guess it IS a sport after all) to slip my pseudo-prophecy into the arcane texts. The Haitian then found Emanuel Tov, a leading Dead Sea Scroll scholar. He put his hand on Tov's forehead and plucked out the memory of page three of the Scrolls. I then met with Tov.

"Hello, Dr. Tov," I said. "Did you ever examine page three of the Dead Sea Scrolls?"

"What?" He looked at me hazily. "Uh...you know...I don't remember ever checking page three."

While Tov and his crew retrieved the Scrolls for further examination, and amidst the media hype surrounding this, my henchmen and I went out for pizza. The Haitian took off his shirt and had a Sprite.


After lunch, we saw on the news that recent discoveries have prompted a special meeting of Vatican officials to discuss the future of the Christian faith. This was the moment we would make our move. The Haitian, some cheerleaders and I snuck into the meeting disguised as clergy.

The Pope spoke, "This....prophecy is bad news for the Chruch. The man of whom it speaks could be a grave threat to our control."

One of the not popes asked, "More of a threat than Oprah?"

"Yes," Ratzinger replied, "more of a threat than Oprah!"

The cardinals all gasped.

"But how," the not pope continued, "do we know this man exists?"

"Oh, I exist!" My voice boomed in the great hall as I stood.

The cardinals all gasped again.

"Like, oh our god!" Kandi screamed, disguised as a nun. "Somebody should kill him before he, like, usurps us or some big word like that!"
Another of my incognito cheerleaders rose up and pulled a gun. She fired three blanks at my chest. I fired off the squibs and fell dramatically to the floor.

"Well," Big Hat said, "that takes care of that problem. Now what do we do about Oprah?"

I stood up, and Kandi announced, "He has, like, arisen and stuff!"

Here a gasp, there a gasp, everywhere a gasp gasp.

"He wears horn-rimmed glasses," somebody called out.

Another said, "and he rose from the dead!"

The Pope lifted his gothic staff high above his head and said, "This cannot be the man of prophecy. He does not shoot people."

I pulled my gun and shot the Pope in the knee. I didn't kill him, but it'd be a long time before he'd play soccer again, or whatever it is Popes do.

"The prophecy said he'd shoot people, not just one person."

I shot whoever said that, and a couple altar boys just to make certain it was clear.

The council accepted me as the Prophecized One, and gave me a big hat. "As my first order with the big hat," I declared, "we will blame Canada!"

"For what, your Holiness?"

"For everything!"

AOC: Taking over, one cup at a time.

Samantha stamped her feet, “Well if you have a better plan, then let me know!, but I think taking over the Hello Kitty store is a great idea. Better than Gabby wanting to infiltrate the evil leftist of Hollywood!” She shrieked.


WHY DO HENCHMEN ARGUE? WHY DO DOVES CRY?

“Well what in tarnatin is so gumdang evil about Hello Kitty any how!” Gabby barked back.

We had been going over different plans to take over an evil empire for the past two days, living on nothing but takeout and Starbucks coffee (note to self: do not let 11 year old evil girlscouts have a triple Carmel maccacitos.)

“OK team, let just clam down a bit. I think it is our nerves or the coffee making us so jumpy …..” the words trail off as all three of us look at each other then say as one, “That’s it!! We will take over Starbucks.”

It is a great idea. Really have you seen what they charge for coffee and the fact that everyone seems to pay for it without a second thought. So we quickly implemented a plan.

STEP 1:
Open a successful locally owned coffee shop that is beloved.


TAK’S COFFEE: LOCALLY OWNED SINCE TUESDAY.

We don’t have time to build a real customer base, so I have to load the coffee with tasteless nicotine, 5X the regular amounts of caffeine, heroin and that stuff at the center of a tootsie pop.


NOW THAT A GOOD CUPPA OF JOE

STEP 2:
Within a day we have crowds of people clamoring for the wholesome goodness of Tak’s Coffee.


I DON’T CARE IF YOU ARE COLD, I NEED SOME FRACKING TAK’S COFFEE!!!!

The coffee so good that we even draw the hardest to find celebrities.


HE WANTED TWO TOWERING CUPS OF TAK’S COFFEE


STEP 3:
By Friday the entire Starbuck’s board of directors came to make an offer on Tak’s Coffee and threaten to open up 17 Starbucks within a block of out shop. After just three cups of Tak’s coffee, two of the board member began to think they were at Woodstock again and the rest voted to merge with Tak’s coffee. Gabby was made CEO, as my figurehead.

We kept the Starbuck’s name, made another $7 million and by Saturday have a new corporate spokesman.


WHAT WOULD JESUS DRINK?

It was a long week.

Our guest judge

"Lin can you meet our guest judge for the 5th Challenge? "Asks Koma.

"Austin can't you see I'm having some non-Y time. No Y chromosome and you are seriously bucking the trend here." The girls and I give him a look of indifference.
"You could show..." He continues but I hold my hand up to stop him.

"Talk to the hand Austin its non-Y time and you are so very much Y." I tell him. "I am not showing some nerdy guy around so he can slobber over me and the girls."

"Uhh-huh!" chorus' the girls.

"The judge is a she Lin. Its Onieda." he tells me.

"Well then that changes everything!" I exclaim. I quickly tell the girls all about the Lt. Cmdr and how absolutely awesome she is.

"Well then girls its party time!" shouts my main girl Dixie.

We meet Onieda at the landing site. She's all so pretty.
"Onieda this is the posse oh and our master of cool Mr Aikio." I introduce.

Onieda is a real princess. She can kick ass take names and still look like a million dollars. She's a real wonder woman.

We took her partying she was all up for it and I'm not sure where she ended up.

I fell asleep.

I last saw her leaving with this guy.

Oh well just long as she's here next week to judge the 5th challenge

Nemonok: Evil is afoot (figuratively speaking, of course)

“Nemonik.”

“Nemonok.”

“Nemnok.”

“Nemonok.”

“Nemahnok.”

“Nemonok.”

“Neemonok.”

“Close. It is Nemonok.”

“Nemonock?” he asked.

“No, say it like this: Nemonok.”

“Nemernok?” the clone trooper attempted again.

“You still aren’t getting it right. It is pronounced Nemonok.”

“Neemonok?”

“Here, let me give you a little mnemonic to help you with the pronunciation. ‘Dr. Nemonok is the leader of the Dr. Nemonok Gang.’ Now you try it.”

“Uh,” Army of (Cl)one stammered for a moment. “Dr. Nemonok is the leader of the Dr. Nemonok Gang?”

“Very good. That wasn’t so difficult was it? Now that that business is out of the way, what were we about to talk about?”

“Well, you see, all my life I’ve been a clone,” the clone said.

“I see.”

“Always just a number from a batch,” he continued. “Just a faceless cog in a giant faceless machine. A man without a name, without a destiny except to fight and die for my Empire.”

“Interesting. Go on.”

“I’ve seen some pretty horrible things,” he added. “I’ve seen death hundreds of times and faced it dozens of times myself.”

“Indeed. And you do not like this destiny?”

“No, that’s not it,” he replied. “It’s just that I’m supposed to be a nameless, faceless part of a legion, that’s how I was made. But I’ve been developing this individuality.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it started really slow,” AOC said. “But then, I got posted somewhere and I kind of noticed a few things that the other clones didn’t. Then I got sent to the Amazing Mutant Race and Last Gladiator Standing, then this competition. Then I started noticing women.”

“You started to notice women?”

“Oh yeah,” he nodded. “Did you know they come in all kinds of different shapes? They’re all beautiful, too. In fact, I had this one commander who used to take good care of me. Wow, she was a hot one.”

“She used to take care of you?”

“I mean, she used to treat me as a person,” AOC clarified. “She treated all her clones with respect. It was weird.”

“And you did not like this?”

“No, I did like it,” he insisted. “It’s just that how can I be a nobody if I’m a somebody? I’m supposed to be faceless, but I’m not. I have a face.”

“You pose an interesting question. Unfortunately, our time for today is up. Perhaps we could talk about it again next week. However, think about this as you go: I am faceless as well, and yet I clearly am an individual.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Thanks a lot, Dr. Nimonik.”

“That’s Nemonok.”

Having helped the clone with his issue as well as putting another of my competition deeper into my (proverbial) grasp, I was ready to lead my troop of evildoers on our next mission. I quickly assembled them in the newly constructed office of our Sierra Gordo base.

“Lady and gentlemen, our task for today is to join an evil organization. I have plans to join the evilest one of all.”

“Is it the Brotherhood of Evil?” asked Apocalypto Pickle.

“Is it the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants?” asked Iron Butterfly.

“Is it Hydra?” asked Gun Nut.

“Is it Cobra?” asked Bob the Goon.

“No, my loyal henches, we will be joining Halliburton. My Shadow Stealthship is prepared for takeoff, in just a few short hours we will be in the Emirate of Dubai.”

“That’s in the Middle East, ain’t it?” asked Butterfly.

“Yeah,” laughed Pickle. “I better bring my sunscreen, huh?”

We made it to Haliburton headquarters and easily made our way to the executive offices and found many of the officers in a meeting. Butterfly pressed his cybernetic auditory receptor against the door and listened.

“So it is settled, we’ll feed spoiled food to the troops in Iraq,” the chairman laughed. “Then we’ll overcharge the American government on all our contracts with them.”

The laughter of the board members was quickly interrupted by my henches bursting through the door into the meeting room.

“What are you people doing here?” a man stood up and angrily demanded. “I am David J. Lesar, CEO of Haliburton and whulp!”

Lesar stumbled back and clutched his arm in pain. The bullet from Gun Nut’s firearm cleanly tore through his arm tissue without hitting bone.

“Nice shooting, dear.”

“Let me kill ‘im, lover” she growled. “Just one shot.”

“Now now, we have been under scrutiny for the past two challenges for being a little too trigger happy. There’s no need to kill this man when I am certain that he will gladly cooperate with us.”

“Never!” he grimaced. “I don’t know who you freaks are, but you’ll pay for this outrage!”

“Yes, of course we will. Apocalypto Pickle, take him away to the dungeons of his office building here. Introduce him to some of the tortures that we villains love to use: water boarding, dogs snapping at his heals, sing to him off key. Have fun with it.”

“Whatever you say boss,” Pickle snarled gladly. He then grabbed the CEO by the collar and dragged him out of the room.

“Now ladies and gentlemen of the board, I have a proposal. My little gang and I are hereby joining your company. All in favor?”

The rest of the officers looked at each other uncomfortably. One finally spoke up “We’ll gladly let you join, you certainly have got the stuff for it. But we have to answer to the Boss first.”

“Your boss? Didn’t I just have him hauled away?”

“No, not him,” the crisply suited man stammered. “The Boss.”

“And who is this Boss?”

“I am,” came a voice from the doorway. “What is going on with my evil corporation?”

“It’s the Penguin!” cried Bob the Goon.

“Not quite,” the Boss answered as he strode forward towards me.

“Vice President Dick Cheney,” Iron Butterfly gasped.

“That’s right, you iron-clad Bozo, wa wa,” he snarled. “And who are you clowns?”

“Please allow me to introduce myself, I am Dr. Nemonok, psychiatrist extraordinaire and this is my gang, Gun Nut, Iron Butterfly, and Bob the Goon. Apocalypto Pickle just took your CEO away, or should I say your former CEO?”

Heh heh, former is right, I think,” Cheney leered an evil leer. “Nemonok, is it? I’ve heard of you. You work for Galactor the Evil Galactic Overlord, don’t you?”

“That is true. I am surprised that you know of him.”

“Oh, I am a big fan of his work,” the Vice President smiled. “In fact, I’m following his footsteps in what he did on Tarkuhn V right here on Earth. Slightly smaller scale, of course.”

“Of course.”

“You know, Nemonok, I like you,” he nodded with another smile. “I like your crew here and I like how you operate. I was getting tired of seeing what Lesar was doing around this place and I can’t tell you how happy I am that you shook things up a little bit. His spot is yours.”

“Oh no no, I couldn’t. I am no evil businessman, just an evil psychiatrist.”

“And you’re modest as well, wa wa.” Cheney’s evil fangs glistened through his crooked sneer. “I really like you. Say, would you like to go hunting with me this weekend? Just you and me.”

“That sounds delightful. Unfortunately, I do not have the ability to carry a firearm.”

“Don’t worry, my friend, wa wa,” Cheney grinned. “I’ll carry one for both of us.”