“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.”