What To Do, What To Do

So another Thursday approaches with yet another round of target rich environments (ye deities, it’s worse than the strawberry garden, which is producing in such embarrassing profusion The Husband and I can’t eat all that we harvest every day), so much so that the whole mess is committing the ultimate sin of getting boring.

Honestly, what’s an Evil Impaler to do? Watching the disaster can be fun, but when your opponent can’t seem to manage more than the whiny toddler level of opposition it takes all the pleasure out of giving them a nice high view (admittedly with the uncomfortable seat, but hey, if you want to hang around in high places, a good sturdy 18-foot stake with a nice rounded tip will do the job. For a while. And since I’m a bit of a completist, you can watch your minions enjoy their view from the 12-foot stakes arrayed in front of you).

Yeah, I know, I’m old-fashioned. I was raised to know better than to spank the baby with a tactical nuke, even if the baby is doing her level best to earn it.

Of course, the baby has no such restrictions and worse, because he’s not sure all those other folk out there are really real people and not just things that are made to serve him, he’ll happily lob nukes like “Raaaaaciss!”, “Seeeexiss”, “Neo-Naaaaaazi!” and of course the ultimate in evil, “Voooooox Daaaaay!” then throw a massive tantrum when he realizes that those other folk don’t all want what he wants and don’t all want to please him.

Now, I may be Evil, but I have standards. One of those standards is that minions do not say things that bring the Evil Legion of Evil into repute (we’re Evil, we’re in disrepute more or less by definition), and they do not ever mention the Legion’s secret donations to the orphanages and no-kill refuges in any situation where it could reasonably be interpreted that they are acting in their official capacity as a Vile Faceless Minion. Such as, you know, pushing the League’s business on their personal Facebook accounts.

But back to our spoiled babies (I have no idea how old they are physically, but boy do they act like babies just starting to walk and still in diapers). They don’t think there’s any such standard because they are the sole standards in their world. Baby wants, baby gets, or there will be screaming. And throwing of things. And all of it will be the fault of Baby’s minions (who aren’t real people, unlike the Vile Faceless Minions who have generous vacation allowances and a really good retirement plan that can be used for funeral expenses if need be) and those dreadful creatures that tell Baby no and must be the worst things ever to exist (Since telling Baby no is the ultimate crime).

So of course, when any of the sane adults – or even the quasi-adults who’ve managed to negotiate a respectable bargain with sanity and can pass for normal on a good day – disagree with Baby or tell Baby that no, she can’t do that, all heck breaks loose (Baby doesn’t realize this, but she’s been far too sheltered to have any idea about hell so this is as bad as it gets). Those of us who know damn well what hell is like because we’ve been there and clawed our way out (ignore that trail of demon corpses. They really don’t like losing customers down there) mostly roll our eyes and let her scream herself out (We’re not her mother, and we don’t particularly wish to be busybodies about it, either).

Baby believes this makes us weak and we’ll eventually give into her. We know better. We know if we do intervene, she’ll get the spanking of her life, and if she’s caused too much damage, that spanking will be a Rowan Atkinson-style fatal beating (honestly, so many children would behave so much better if they’d had a few more fatal beatings when they were younger). The true art of Evil includes knowing when to apply the Iron Fist and when the Velvet Glove is more appropriate. The Iron Fist inside the Velvet Glove is too complicated for Baby to understand, so she has no idea what she’s playing with.

But really, she’s no challenge. She’s just a spoiled, privileged brat with no idea about anything. The first time reality smacks her in the face, she’ll crumble.

And she won’t even realize that if she hadn’t been such a spoiled little monster, the people she’s been calling names would rush to help her.