Vordak likes to think he is as evil as I am, but of course, he's just an amateur compared to the Great Evility that is I.
Vordak's manual of menace How To Grow Up and Rule the World will be unleashed on the innocent and unsuspecting world tomorrow.
To mark the day, a writing contest! Prizes include a copy of the actual manual of menace itself, and a mug featuring my favorite photo of Vordak:
Writing Contest rules: Tell me a story in 1o0 words or less. Use these five words in the story:
heinous
headgear
nemesis
sinister
minion
Post your entry in the comments column of this blog post. One entry per person. Contest starts NOW and runs until Vordak rules the world or Tuesday morning at 9:33am whichever comes first.
Go!
106 comments:
Bertie attached his headgear. "Are you sure this is safe?"
"Shut up, minion, and get on the motorcycle." Torus flicked a piece of dust off his bald egg-head.
"This thing's been my nemesis ever since it started haunting me. I mean, first it runs over me while I'm sleeping, then it crashes into my scrambled eggs, and then it killed -"
"Shut up! You're supposed to be sinister! Heinous! Cruel! If you don't get on that motorcycle right now..." He leaned forward, smirking. "I'll crush your teddy bear."
Bertie gasped and jumped on his motorcycle.
In other news, Vordak the Incomprehensible has struck again in Manhattan’s west side.
Channel 7 news learned the offices of Fine Print Literary Management, long suspected of being the sinister seaport of Vordak’s nemesis, the Query Shark, were leveled in a deafening dastardly detonation this morning. Witnesses reported a multitude of minions milling about prior to the attack.
Suzi Townsend said, “It was awful! I went for cupcakes. I thought I saw heinous headgear but dismissed it as orange soda intemperance. When I got back… nothing but rubble. Oh, the humanity!”
“Minion!”
Oh, here we go again. That Vordak! I don’t know what he did to her, but ever since, this is what I deal with. “Yes, mother?” I said.
“Bring me, my headgear!”
“I’m not letting you wear that in public again,” I said.
Just picture this: Middle-aged woman, wearing a football helmet and a rake, standing guard at your front door.
“I need it to slay that heinous nemesis of mine.”
“What are you talking about?”
“He has failed us for the last time!”
“Dad is late, like, five minutes, mom.”
“He is a sinister fiend!”
“I’m going to grandma’s.”
The sinister Planetary Overlord and his minion who was so heinous he needed headgear to disguise his lack of good looks, faced their nemesis, I am that which they revile, but I look good. So we traded insults and barbs which made the helmeted one quite angry with me. I would not lose. Victory was my sidekick, they had no chance. I quickly dispatched the underling and threw him into the Overlord's gut, down for the count. Our planet saved once again by me.
Heinous Evil Editor summoned his minions to his office. “My nemesis Vordak, he of the sinister headgear, has challenged The Shark for domination in the land of Manhattia. This must not be allowed.”
The minions knew what they had to do—they snipped Vordak’s tines, rendering him impotent . . . in more ways than one.
Thus the land of Manhattia was back to status quo again.
Next week, Heinous EE challenges The Shark for the power of the IHOP pancakes.
Who will win the next throw down?
I signed to be a minion right out of high school. It was that or the army and I figured, what the heck, the army seemed more sinister than some guy who was overtly trying to take over the world.
Luckily, I had my pick of evildoers. I read through their stats, their requirements, and picked one that had a decent costume, no headgear, and a nemesis ("Superhero" to you goody-two-shoes) with a heinous sense of costuming. (Honestly, fuschia? On a costume? Please.)
Now it's just 15 more years 'til retirement.
I awoke with a heinous headache. School begins for this year in a little over an hour. One day I crush my nemesis and unleash my sinister mind control machine.
I just have to get the settings right on the headgear, and get everyone in the school to wear it long enough for me to make them all my minions!
For now I will just sit back and wait. Eat my eggs and toast and plot, oh yes I will plot. Bwahahaha.
Pipkin was not displaying the proper sinister attitude. Truth be told, he wasn’t much of a minion, but he was the only mouse at 703 Dorchester Drive willing to follow me at all.
I prided myself on the flexibility of my heinous scheme. If my army consisted of a single tail-wringing dormouse, then so be it.
I twirled my whiskers and adjusted my tinfoil headgear in a manner that seemed appropriately mastermind-ish. “Today is the day, Pipkin! Today, we confront my nemesis!”
Pipkin’s eyes widened. “You’re not really going to pull the cat’s whiskers!”
“Of course not. You are.”
Headgear!? Bah. I thought that went out with the dark ages, along with the sinister trans-continental criss-cross of railroad tracks. Hasn't that heinous orthodontist heard of Invisalign? Even my spineless minion, Countess Chocula talked her nemesis step-mom from hell and complacent dad into the latest fad in teeth straightening.
Come into the 21st Century, Dr. Marx!
He was glued to his seat by a plate of asparagus.
Larry stared down like he was staring into the eyes of his greatest nemesis. If only I had a minion, he thought, my mom’s sinister plot would be foiled because I’d feed the heinous weed to him. He imagined a bulldozer smashing the plate. He imagined he had headgear that would grind up anything near his head. He imagined the asparagus running away on little asparagus legs.
He poked and prodded and pushed the asparagus around.
Tonight he would win.
It was going to be a long night.
Vordak slipped the heinous headgear onto his oblong, yellow bug-like head. His laugh had a more sinister tone than usual. Today would be the day he’d show his nemesis Janet Reid! Who’s the minion now! She was touting his book. Wasn’t that proof enough?
The warlock beat the brass pot, the witch screeched out the tune
Around the bone pile dancing beneath an autumn moon
Fruitbasket for his headgear, a scarf of black she wore
A minion of no power, allegience nevermore
“Come out you evil black cat. A heinous trick we moans.”
“Hiding mama’s dentures in a pile of bones.”
There he stood. My arch-nemesis, Fred Fredrickson, king of the kickball kids, surrounded by a gang of suck up third graders. One of his lowly goons had actually stuck me with the ironic nickname “Minion” – punishment for the heinous crimes of being short and smelling like onions that one time.
Fred caught my eye from across the playground. Gave me a sinister stare. I just smiled and waved, which only made him try to look tougher. Keep it up, I thought. That whoopee cushion waiting on your chair will show you who’s king.
I adjusted my orthodontic headgear and snickered.
Martha squirmed as her mother adjusted the enormous bow. The headgear resembled the top of a Christmas tree.
When her mother mentioned Cotillion, Martha assumed she meant lizards. Might as well have, Martha turned shades of green as she watched her nemesis play softball across the street.
“Martha, don’t slouch.”
“This isn’t fair.” She let out a heinous cry.
Sinister thoughts filled her head. She was about to become another minion, expected to curtsy and sip tea.
Her mother set down the hairbrush and Martha made a run for it. She grabbed her cleats and sprinted out the front door.
"I need a new minion," Bartholomew said, staring blankly into the smoldering heap of ash that used to be his previous minion, Jack. Pieces of his headgear were still visible amidst the heinous mess, but it seemed to have no effect on our sinister evil-doer.
Just moments ago, Bartholomew's nemesis, Captain Do-Gooder, had released the power of his Eyes of Purity and incinerated Jack, leaving Bartholomew minion-less and quite peeved.
"Yes," he said, his eyes narrowing. "I need a new minion..."
END
teehee That was fun! :)
We squared off. We fought. He utilized the martial arts attack perfected by Foo Yu Wuns. I countered with the classic Yo Mofo defense. It worked. I defeated the heinous evildoer, Ballstothewalls. But when I removed the concealing headgear of my nemesis, I discovered that it was his minion, Kissass, whom I had defeated. Ballstothewalls was hiding in the sinister shadows, waiting. He attacked with the indefensible Urassisgrass. Enough. I shot the sumbitch with a .357 magnum. He died at my feet. “Let this be a lesson,” I said. “Even with Ballstothewalls, your ass is grass against a gun.”
I begged my mom not to make me wear the heinous headgear to school, but no soap. As if straight teeth are going to fix anything for a 140 pound puke with glasses and an IQ over fifty.
The minions at Westside High rarely look up from their i-phones. They’ll never see me smile. In fact, the only time my teeth have been visible is when my nemesis, Carly “Sinister” Sinisterra, poured acid on my arm in chem lab.
Like I wanted to be her partner—please. That bitch doesn’t know a burette from her Juicy Couture clad butthole.
Heinous, headgear, nemesis, sinister, minion. You may send my prizes to: Vordak the Incomprehensible, 23471 Evil Avenue, city and state a closely guarded secret. I will sign my own book and deposit the mug immediately into my trash compactor. I will now repeat this paragraph to attain exactly one hundred words.
Heinous, headgear, nemesis, sinister, minion. You may send my prizes to: Vordak the Incomprehensible, 23471 Evil Avenue, city and state a closely guarded secret. I will sign my own book and deposit the mug immediately into my trash compactor. I will now repeat this paragraph to attain exactly one hundred words.
Love the words - had to write an ode to my favorite tv show of the summer. 'Cept I had to have Perry talk - I can't keep to 100 words without him speaking.
Dr. Heinz Doofenshmirtz cackled. "I have you now, Perry the Platypus! With you out of my way, my minion and I will rule the Tri! State! Area!"
Perry narrowed his eyes. "But what will you do without your nemesis? No one else will care about your sinister plans. The show will be... over."
Doofenshmirtz paused and hung his head. "Curse you, Perry. Go, so we can meet again."
Perry took his signature headgear from Doofenshmirtz and placed it on his head. "No offense, but your breath is heinous. Have you brushed?"
"No, I didn’t. I'll go take care of that."
When I was in middle school, I wore heinous orthodontal headgear to correct a severe overbite. But there was nothing so painful that Phllip Sanderborne--- my nemesis since the Panty Elastic Incident in first grade---couldn't make worse.
He called me RoboRat, a nickname that stuck. He tried to electrocute me with static and snapped the elastic that kept my wires in place until I cried in class. His minions delivered sinister notes that compared me to bucktoothed roadkill.
I swore that I would spend the rest of my life making him pay for his crimes.
Reader, I married him.
The queries come in
Stinking like onions
Looking down, Janet says--
I must show my minions!
This one here:
It's time we discuss
The way it *tells,* not *shows*
It's really heinous
This one's full of imagery--
But it's still unclear
Like the kid in the drive-through
Wearing headgear
Here's another in the pile
To be dismissed
It's by: Archives? What're Archives?
My old nemesis
Now look at this one
Really quite sinister
300,000 words; please call my minister
Ah, HERE'S my winner
It's short and it's sweet
It broke all my rules
But I'd ask for a complete
Andy never saw The Shark so behind the eight ball. “What can I do you for, doll?”
“Heinous,” she whimpered, dotting her cheek with a tissue. “All of them… blown to smithereens. What will my minions and I eat?”
Andy shoved back a glass of corn, wishing the dame would close her head, so he could grease his own gears. He knew of one goon sinister enough to pull off blowin’ up all the bakeries, forever ridding the planet of sweet delicious cupcakes. Last Andy heard Vordak, his nemesis, was holed up in his parents’ basement in Trenton, New Jersey.
I stared into the eyes of my nemesis. She wouldn’t beat me this time. I’d been her minion my whole life. I was done. Time to take a stand. My life was my own and I needed to start living it. No more sabotage, no more destruction.
The face of my sinister enemy blurred. I took a deep breath. The heinous pit of evil that was my high school be damned. I would be my own person and they could all kiss my socially challenged rear end.
I wiped the steam from the mirror and adjusted my headgear.
Show time.
The sable phone rang, then silenced as a gauntleted hand seized the receiver: Dana-nana-nana-nana, BATMAAAAA-
"Talk to me, Alfred."
"Missive from Arkham, sir. The Joker’s been downgraded from Arch-nemesis to Nemesis."
"Oh?"
"Eighteen-month hiatus, sir, without a Sinister Plot. Downgrade is S.O.P. per the Skullduggery Code, Revised 2nd Edition."
"Pantsing the Commissioner isn’t Sinister?"
"Heinous, sir, and second-tier at that. Committed by minion sans supervillain oversight."
"Mmm. Send him a Peanuts-themed Thinking Of You card."
"Linus?"
"Lucy. We have standards. Segue: my headgear is dulling.”
A profound sigh. “I’ll fetch the whetstone, sir.”
Those idiots actually did it, he penciled. My minions have captured my nemesis's daughter!
Jimmy paused, pencil in mid-air. Or is it nemesis' daughter? They both look wrong.
A voice broke his train of thought, as it often did while he worked on his comic.
"Put away the sketchbook and eat. You're gonna be late again."
"These pancakes are heinous, Mom," he said, tucking his sketchpad into his backpack.
"Don't you walk out of here without that headgear, young man!" his mother said. "Those braces weren’t free."
"Talk about sinister.”
"You wanna say that to my face, mister?"
"Bye, Mom!"
It was murky in the cabin as the minion prepared the table. She was setting out bakewell tarts, tarte tatins, faworkis, and a sinister looking ghorabiye. The heinous Backfire, had agreed to a sit down with her nemesis, Wisteria.
Backfire's fading fragrant French cologne- earlier a sweet elixir- melted under dim lights at the very moment the tattooed Wisteria held a lit match to her cigarette and started a small fire.
I put on my gable hood headgear because my head was about to explode, and I noticed my cup of chamomile was now strangely cold.
'Tis a heinous thing, jumping the shark, so it was with a sinister frown that Vordak overheard his least favorite minion suggesting His Evilness had sold out by releasing plans to rule the world in book form.
GASP!
Now, mere mortals would partake of his secrets, and they could impart them to his nemesis!
A special punishment was devised for this loose-lipped underling who dared defame his master's wisdom. He was outfitted with official Vordak headgear and sent forth as a decoy.
Yes, 'tis a heinous thing, jumping the shark, but it's far more painful to miss the landing.
CHOMP!
Minion! This heinous sinister headgear is your nemesis.
Haste yee back ;-)
Poelle is a heinous and sinister snake. She snatched a minion away from Janet, her nemesis, just to keep her headgear polished.
“Sinister, Dexter.”
My nemesis, Sr. Dolores, marches me round the detention room. Never trust someone who jokes in Latin. It’s heinous.
“That’s right, Dexter O’Donnell,” she says. “You’ll not forget your sinister left from your dextrous right now, will you?”
Before I can reply, her eyes glaze over and a whirring comes from her headgear. The black part lifts with hydraulic smoothness, revealing Virgil, the class gerbil. He’s dressed in ninja black.
“Virgil,” I stammer. “I thought you were Sister’s favorite pet.”
He clutches Vordak’s manual of menace to his chubby little chest. “I’m nobody’s minion,” he says. “Caveat emptor!”
“I want a minion.”
Abe sighed behind his fake beard and glared at the seven year old on his lap. Kid was lucky Abe wasn’t the real Santa, or he’d be getting a poison dart frog in his stocking this year.
“I already told you, no minions. How about a bike?”
Hopefully with some heinous, girly headgear, so all the other kids would mock him.
The kid gave him a sinister frown. “No bike. Minions!”
“Look, kid. You’re making a nemesis out of Santa Claus. How about a pet hamster, and that’s my final offer.”
“Can I name it Minion?”
“I got a new mansion!” she shrieked.
“Are you playing Farmville again?”
My sister sat at the computer, headgear framing her face like the winning entry in a bicycle crash contest.
She frowned. “Facebook ish a heinous plot to take over the universh.” Attempting to enunciate, she pointed at the screen. “I got a new minion.”
“Is that Twitter?” I squinted at the sinister icon denoting her newest follower. “Wait - you call your followers ‘minions’? That’s a little sinister. And your Twitter handle is Nemesis_007? You need a new name sis.”
“I tried, but Vordak was taken.”
Roland looked at the picture on the front page of The Herald. It wasn't flattering.
His cape had swished aside at the exact moment the sinister photographer had snapped the picture. The camera had been focused on his nemesis, of course. But in the foreground he could only see his bulging butt and – were those love handles?
He tossed the morning paper aside and let out a heinous shriek. He wanted something to punch and – not for the first time – bemoaned the fact that he had no minion.
Screw this, he thought. Grabbing his headgear, he headed for the gym.
C.P. the Conqueror, and his loyal minion, Clancy, were 13. By Vanqasian standards, they were old men. Their mission...to establish dominion over President Dellanovia's sinister nemesis, JimHaShpa of Planet Vanq. In preparation for disembarkment, the check list began. Lasers...check. Invisibility cloak...check. Force field...check. Wait...a heinous substance oozed onto C.P.'s hand. Something struck his head! CODE RED!!!
**********
C.P. lifted his head from the slab of wood laminate. Drool pooled on the desktop and his headgear was jammed into his gums. He composed himself without a moment to spare. "Yes, ma'am. the square root of 16 is 4."
“Nemesis! Give me a cookie.”
Somewhere underneath the black motorcycle helmet is my daughter. There are telltale signs. Head barely level with the kitchen counter. Shoulder length brown hair defying the laws of physics. And then there are the pajamas. A dead ringer.
“Hi.”
“Muahaha. You’re stalling. Cookie! Now, or face my minion.” Our Great Dane strides forward, lies down, and begins to scratch himself.
She’s painted her neck brace black and decorated it with sinister licking flames. Nice.
“Hmm?”
She flips up the visor. “Cookie!”
I snatch off the helmet. “But without your magically heinous headgear, you’re helpless!”
“Noooooooooo…”
Captain Toothpaste and the Waterpik Kid struggled against their floss bonds. Their nemesis’ deranged headgear glinted.
“Holy Molars! It’s Dr. Dento.”
Captain Toothpaste eyed his captor. “You’ll never get away with this Dento.”
Sinister laughter filled the room. “There’s where you’re wrong Toothy. Soon the world will know my musical brilliance. Bwahahahahaha…”
Dento’s minion spun the dial to 10. The world’s fillings blared loud music.
Waterpik winced.
“Captain Toothpaste.”
“Yes, Waterpik.”
“You know how you say justice is blind?”
“Yes.”
“Apparently she’s deaf too.”
From that point, the world was filled with heinous sounds of country rap fusion.
“Girl, that dress is heinous. The bow makes your butt look enormous.”
I could hear panicked shuffling in the dressing room next door. The voice of my nemesis rose as she chewed out a minion. Ahem, I mean bridesmaid. Damn Carol for stealing my date and venue.
Seconds later, Laura was back, gorgeous wedding gown in hand.
“Last one in your size. I’ll be back with your veil.” She flashed a sinister smile and disappeared.
“Oh, Carol honey, that headgear is just not right for you. I’ll find you something bigger – in orange.”
Laura was my best friend.
Headgear Mahoney rocketed his rook into Jimmy Chen’s cranium, and the rest of the Gerald Ford Middle School chess team fastened their eyes to their boards as Jimmy covered his face and ran from the room. There were only two options—be Headgear’s minion or his nemesis. Until Jimmy’s heinous checkmate, no one had ever considered the latter.
Except for Elsie Sprat.
The kind of girl a man turned off Dr. Who for, Elsie glared at Headgear through thick glasses and the sinister slid from his expression. She turned away, and he covered his face and ran from the room.
I paged through the book written by my nemesis, Vordak the Incomprehensible. How he managed to get a deal is beyond me. I’ve been querying the all-evil sinister Query Shark with same idea for years. Then, he sent out an advanced reading copy with this sweet letter. Can you believe the nerve? I bet his mom wrote it, just like she does his homework.
Dear Minion,
I am looking to bolster my evil organization. Those with appropriate headgear may apply. Forward your resume listing heinous deeds to Fine Print Literary Management.
Sincerely,
Vordak the Incomprehensible
"...and then his nemesis kicked me right in the heinous!"
"I don't think you're pronouncing that right."
"Oh shut up, mister high-and-mighty minion #1. I still can't sit and it's been a week. This is the worst gig I've ever had, and I was Mel Gibson’s personal assistant. For two years."
"Wow. OK, here's my secret to success with His Sinister-ness: Always Be Groveling. And compliment his headgear. You’ll rise to #2 in no time. Personally, I think he’s grooming you for sidekick."
“You think? Hey, have you seen the ointment?”
I was mortified. Two days before our middle school graduation dance, I had been outfitted with glittering metal braces and hideous headgear. I looked like an alien. With acne. I was certain the gods were out to destroy me.
Their sinister plot extended to giving Trisha, my nemesis, breasts.
Janet, my sole minion and bff, agreed that Trisha’s sudden maturation was a heinous development, and looked suspiciously like she’d given nature some help. Well, two could play that game!
While Janet and I shopped for padded WonderBras, I considered ways to turn my headgear into a fashion accessory. Matching earrings!
There once was a girl who wanted a career “in fashion” but couldn't sew so she became a stylist; she liked using rich girls as Barbie dolls.
Like most Barbie owners she had a sinister streak and would do heinous things like tell them that a piece of orthodontic headgear was actually the latest from Philip Treacy. Afterward she and her minions would laugh as the women walked the red carpet.
She did this to drive unwanted clients over to her nemesis, Bobby Green, so that she and her best dolls could all live fabulously ever after.
My nemesis stood before me in her sinister glory. Flowing robes, fanning headgear, and heinous make-up. How could someone dress so elegantly and manage to look like a harlot?
“You’re not paying attention to mistressss,” her minion spewed at me. Would it kill her to get him braces? He was right though. I wasn’t paying attention.
“You were saying?”
“I would simply adore if you and your lovely,” she choked on the word, “daughter would join us for a playdate?”
My daughter sighed. I sighed. We resigned ourselves to telling bedtime stories about the evil queen and little servant.
Kate was sitting at the bar drinking a coke with extra ice when her friend Paul sat down next to her…
“Please tell me you didn’t do it, Kate,” Paul pleaded.
“I couldn’t help it. There was something about the way she posted rules on how to follow her on Twitter that made me wish I could be as heinous and sinister as she is. Rules…who does that?”
Trying not to laugh, Paul sneered, “You’re acting like she’s your nemesis.”
Wiping tears from her eyes, Kate refitted her headgear. “Ya right,” she thought. “I wouldn’t even qualify as a minion.”
He is two parts sinister and one part smooth with a scheming, half-screwed smile he wears plastered on his face like his lips are held up by headgear. One glance from him and the girls fall to the ground as their minion knees buckle. By day he’s a cowboy, his nemesis a bull; by night, he holds court at the finest lounge. There isn’t a woman he hasn’t spurned, or a brother he hasn’t betrayed. When he leans back in his corner booth, Dos Equis in hand, people whisper, “He’s The Most Heinous Man in the World.”
The knight doffed his helm and cuffed back the chain-link coif. His expression was equally sinister without the headgear.
The woman’s eyes raked him with scorn. “You pitiful minion, you must be here at your master’s behest. Does some heinous punishment await me for my deeds?”
“Ask the king,” he replied, “for he commands your presence anon.”
Her tone hardened. “He has learned I am no milk-sop maiden, but a nemesis to fear.” A sleek brow arched in derision. “No doubt it was a bitter draught for him to swallow.”
“Most assuredly, my lady.” Grudging admiration coated his words.
There he was, my nemesis, the Reverend Bollockoff. The thing is, he wasn’t a Reverend but due to a heinous accident involving a switchblade in the front pocket of his trousers, his second name worked.
“Your headgear sucks, minion,” he shouted, a sinister look in his eyes.
“Yeah, so does your mum, real good. Ask my dad.”
“Arghh! Defeated again.”
It was a shitty game, but it got us through our shift stuck in the drive-through kiosks.
“Minion Union Rules. Ya gotta wear your assigned identity-disguising headgear at all times. Ya can’t discuss details of any sinister, heinous, deranged, dastardly, or otherwise plans inside or outside work. All this was on da card, Mick.”
General Vezax leaned forward, chair squeaking in protest. “Yet I gotta report that ya were fraternizin’ wit’ the boss’s chosen and clearly distinguished Nemesis.”
He glared at the hapless Mick. “So what the hell were ya doing going for drinks with da Shark? In mufti, no less!”
Mick swallowed. “She .. said she liked my writing.”
“Oldest trick in the book, kid.”
A morning without coffee is evil, and it makes me persnickety. Honestly, nobody likes me much on a good day, let alone on a bad day. Those days devolve a sinister haze of half-conscious, indiscriminate viciousness.
Torturing my minions usually takes the edge off. A little electroshock headgear, perhaps. Sometimes, I make them read Chaucer – or Beowulf in Old English. It reminds them of graduate school, a circle in Hell few fully recover from.
Yes, if I had a nemesis, it’d be decaf. It’s heinous. It’s coffee-flavored water. Definitively, it’s not the devil’s blend.
And I should know.
Sincerely,
L
I ran across the street and the mood was sinister. I had to replace my headgear in a hurry, as the wind destroyed the old one. New one sucked. It almost felt alive.
When I entered I heard sniggering.
I hate them office minions!
I didn’t pay attention and walked directly to the meeting room.
I nervously checked my watch. The Client with capital C will arrive any minute now.
She got there first; Dianne, my nemesis, still hungry for my job.
She laughed: “Nice wig, Dan. Very heinous. Why is it moving?”
There is no really a way to stun my biggest nemesis aka my beloved soon to be ex wife.
Queen of England’s crown is for her just an expensive headgear; heinous acts of violence you see on TV nowadays nothing she had not seen already in her travels across the universe.
I should have realized during our courtship that she was not interested in intergalactic love & companionship; instead, her sinister plans were focused on turning the habitants of our Saturn colony into her minions.
She had obviously lots of practice during our short lived marriage.
Dr. Sinister woke up. He drank the coffee, gathered his minions and left the house.
Today, he thought, I'll follow my heinous plan to the letter and destroy the world!
He annihilated a city and started to overflow the sea, when Ms. Nemesis arrived. They fought. Minions died. He lost his cool headgear, a present from his wife. In the end, he had to hide in a shoe store, pretending to be a buyer.
At dusk he returned home. Ms. Nemesis was there, making him dinner.
»Nice, honey,« she said.
She kissed him and he smiled proudly.
Vordak thinks he is evil? Little Ms. Janet snarky shark thinks she is badder than bad? Well, move over dipwats because your arch nemesis is in town; and “The Elucidator” is no cupcake eating little Ms. Sissy Poopy-in-the-Pants.
When she dons her headgear, the most heinous, most sinister malevolence will be unleashed upon you all. (HAHAHA) The world will become her minion. And, instead of cupcakes, pretzel croissants (with a little whip cream on the side) will be the fare.
Beware my friends, be forewarned...she lurks among you...she especially hangs down at that little bakery on 18th, near 5th.
“Giraffes? Say where?”
I adjusted my headgear, zoomed in. Two at three o clock — ie half past zombie quadruped midnight.
A sinister darkness enveloped the creatures’ yellowy-blackspot glow of sun. Heinous, the minions of Blight Giraffe Myth Lord, to corrupt gift-of-neck souls thuslyesque.
It’s them or us, nous or we. So do I fire indiscriminately?
My nemesis, always: indecision.
Spotty mustard fiend flesh teeth creatures growl into dream sveltes and Savannah Montana Havanas.
Four o clock, more o clock, swings of fists at hot speckled warm air cold soul nightmare plains — and I am bitten now, glad of it.
Roses are Red
Violets are Blue
I'm winning this contest
Not talentless YOU!
Tartanion, a sinister minion of my nemesis Dr. Wong, recently posted the following in the classifieds: "For sale: heinous headgear, never worn."
“Darling, that outfit is heinous! You can’t wear it to the Sinister Teens meeting!” Lucy rolled her eyes and wondered if she could register her mother as an official nemesis.
“Take off that headgear; it hinders your menace.” Lucy approached the shark tank to pet her minion, Query.
After berating her for several more minutes, mother moved closer to primp the teen’s hair. Lucy signaled Query and with a lunge the shark sank its teeth into mother’s arm. Her eyes flared in surprise as she was pulled down to her doom. Her last words were, “I’m so proud of you!”
"Crocs are not acceptable footwear, you insipid fool!" Insipid fool was Vordak's favorite phrase in sinister speak. Too bad Magnon didn't know what it meant.
"Sorry, Your Heinous." Magnon's unibrow bunched into a thick caterpillar over the lumpish growth he called a nose. "I'm supposed to wear some kinda fish theme, though, right? Was it headgear?"
"SHARKSKIN, you moron! We have to skin The Shark, my nemesis, before we can conquer the world. This. Is. Not. Complicated."
Vordak would just have the recruit The Eel, slithery Barbara Poelle, if he wanted a head minion with a measurable IQ.
Trying on the ghastly headgear, he turned to his boss, “What do you think?”
“Why would you want to wear that crap? You’re a henchman, look it up. You work for a sinister criminal mastermind, not a Literary Agent! You look heinous!”
“I ain’t that smart, but I knows enough that this here,” he pointed at his now masked face, “don’t look nothing like an anis.”
Mouth agape, he looked at the foolish minion he employed, “I don’t suppose I can get you to go to work for my nemesis?"
Sir Crotchett glanced out the window. His nemesis Heinous Hank had finally arrived. "I see the pitchforks and torches," he calmly remarked. "Arm the catapult."
"Yes Sir!" Blind Benny, Crotchett's only remaining minion, donned his headgear and trotted into the wall.
"If ya want something done right, ya gotta do it yourself." Crotchett stepped over Benny's prone body and threw open the double doors.
"That's right, Heinous Hank," he shouted into the darkness. "Give me your best shot!"
His eyes widened as the torches illuminated his enemy. "Oh, crap," he muttered. "It's more sinister than I thought. Vordak."
My forefinger rode the bridge of my nose by habit, trying to push up the glasses that had been missing since Thursday. I squinted to bring the recipe into focus.
“Add one finely chopped minion,” I read. No, that couldn’t be right. Tiny lettering was my nemesis.
I did have a pair of prescription lab goggles, but the headgear was heinous looking.
I hissed as I touched the hot stove with my left hand. My poor sinister digits! I opened the freezer for ice to cool the burn and laughed. There sat my glasses, on top of the ice cream!
Evelyn’s brother’s fiancée was her nemesis. Melinda and Frank were a terrible fit. She was modishly underweight; he was a chubby orthodontist. She liked tabloids, reality TV, and heinous “designer” clothing.
Frank obsessed over teeth. Little else interested him. Forty-year-old Frank wore braces and headgear at night.
Frank wasn’t rich. Or famous. Melinda had perfect teeth; she wasn’t marrying him for orthodontia. Suspecting something sinister, Evelyn spied on Melinda.
Melinda gabbed on the phone ("A minion of hers?" Evelyn wondered nastily) and ate lunch. Then she brushed her teeth. She brushed. And brushed. Then she flossed.
Evelyn muttered, “Mystery solved.”
The malevolently perfect name--Das-Tard.
Two ideally evil minions--the heinous Cus-Tard, and my wife’s son, Bas-tard.
An obnoxiously sinister costume—flamboyantly feathered headgear with a leo-tard.
An adulterated-ly superb nemesis—the held back, slowed down, delayed impediment do-gooder with chunky underpants, A Propos-tard.
A politically incorrect altitude to land upon the sun, then blackmail and Rule the World with shade.
Especially when done at night.
Priceless!
Thus causing the complete and worldwide cessation of commerce and life.
Except for those with bean induced methane filled bottle lanterns to see through the bloody darkness.
Who says evil doesn’t pay?
Amen!
Attora, Greisha’s nemesis, sat upon the dais with her minion, Kraal. His goblin eyes crawled the fey court, but he overlooked Greisha stalking up behind the throne.
She pulled a dagger from her headgear and gave a sinister laugh before plunging the blade into Attora’s throat. Kraal gave a heinous cry, but his mistress’s life had already dripped away in red splashes onto the stone floor, leaving a jerking husk behind.
Greisha snatched the golden crown from Attora’s head and pushed her body from the throne.
“All hail the new queen!” The crowd roared, as she took her rightful place.
Name. Costume. Lair. Minion. Plan.
Time to foil my nemesis, Biff.
That sinister kid had not only tried to pin a stolen pie on me, he had called me Tiney. My headgear wasn’t a hayfork.
No one suspected I could be heinous. The plan involved a full windowsill and a well. I unclipped the leash from my minion. Dog bylaws be damned.
Townspeople arrived with Biff and my minion.
“Timmy, Biff told us you fell down a well,” said Mr. Miller.
“I’ll bet he said I’m stealing pies again, too.”
Back at the lair, I gave Lassie the first slice.
The man in blue crunched the headgear and strapped it tight. He ignored the wails. I was but a minion watching from afar, and the cries were unbearable. Mothers cradled infants, and soldiers, pummeled into soulless husks, dropped to their knees like wheat scythed in spring. Our nemesis, an overreaching bloc of sinister origins, snared an unlikely victory, and the only one who stood for a cause awaited his end. But we should have expected it. Once the bridge to our homeworld collapsed, nothing short of nuclear war would have stemmed the heinous tides of crawling encroachment and dark transformation.
"Mr...."
"Headgear the Heinousth!"
"Indeed. Do you have any questions about the minion position?"
"Yesth!"
"Betty, get me a towel please. What is your question, Mr. Headgear?"
"Doesth it shupply any opportunitiesth for advanthment? I wisth to thomeday be a full-fledged nemesisth!"
“Really.”
“!”
“Um, no. The job is strictly lackey-based. You know, cleaning Sinister Sharkey’s teeth, servicing the Loathsomobile, Googling the whereabouts of Captain Bowflex. The usual.”
“Exthellent! I’m sthupendoush with incisorsth!”
“Well, thank you for coming by. Betty, for God’s sake get me a Kleenex or something!”
“Shtop! I shtill haven’t sthown you my Sthecret Sthnake Skillsth!”
‟Is she making a statement with her headgear of writhing serpents?‟ the minion whispered. ‟A preview, perhaps, of her plan for her nemesis Vordak The Incomprehensible?‟
‟Indeed,‟ the executioner flashed a reptilian smile.
‟Can you characterize the plan—in a hundred words or less?‟
‟Indeed.‟ The executioner slipped the hood over my head. ‟Heinous. Sinister. Lethal.‟
His head itched but he would not take off his new and improved headgear. His sister had called it heinous but she hadn't read Accessories for the Budding Supervillain. Or knew that heinous was the new sinister.
She had snickered when he had renamed the cat Nemesis after covering his shoes in catnip. He had ignored her while ticking another box on his checklist.
Now there was only one thing missing.
One accessory to rule the world.
He opened the book ... and cried out in anger as he swept the mini onions off the table.
That stupid sight-obstructing headgear!
No one dreams of becoming a minion.
But with the heinous economy, and my lack of people skills, I signed up with the first employer who offered. Never mind that Mother Severe-ier lived up to her name, I needed out of the ‘rents house before I hurt someone.
The Order should have called me earlier...
See, my true nemesis wasn’t Holly Heartland, as I’d been told in orientation, but rather my direct supervisor, Sister Sinister, who told me so. I was a quicker study than my GPA suggested.
Luckily, nun’s headgear is one size fits all. Sidekickdom here I come!
Nemesis, Sinister's minion said, "Dude that's some heinous headgear."
Sinister stopped brushing her teeth and spat in the sink. "Dude I just woke up."
Damon Minion Onion took first place in the second annual Name that Nemesis contest. He defeated Harry Smitten by recalling the sinister Professor James Moriarty in the final round of fast-paced trivia. Onion is regarded as one of the most memorable contestants of the competition, sporting headgear from his junior high school years. The competition is expected to return next year, despite heinous threats from the Evil Guys Have Feelings Too Organization. The EGHFTO was unavailable for comment on Onion’s recent win.
The sinister look in his eye made clear his heinous intentions when he snatched her from the running path. The street was only yards away but her new headgear, a tightly wound gag, prevented the screams that could save her life. Flies swarmed the pooled blood that flowed from her nose.
Her nemesis loomed over her, closer and closer. She thrashed on the ground, her bound hands and feet straining against harsh wires. The lush green forest vegetation snagged her clothes and scratched her face like so many of the killer's loyal minions.
“Sinister, derived from the Latin ‘sin’ and English’s ‘sister’, carries the literal meaning ‘heinous nun’ or, more commonly, ‘God’s disguised nemesis.’”
No one laughs as they devote their notebooks to his revelation.
“I dnt thnk tht’s wut tht acshuly mns,” I say, humming from on high in the back of class. I don’t raise my hand like his front-row minions, and his eyes are in communion with annoyance.
“Good heavens, Moses, I never understand you,” he says, tracing his jaw. “Does your headgear actually affect your brain, or just your speech?” Even Aaron laughs. Somewhere inside me the bush engulfs.
The date itself was not as heinous as the card.
Kelsie accepted dinner at the bowling alley with the bus driver out of sympathy for the frazzled 7th-grader encased in ten pounds of headgear. The minion.
"He's my uncle, Miss Holt. And you practically work together. How else are you going to meet people?"
Kelsie's nemesis failed to try anything sinister, with the leagues so full of witnesses. But Kelsie declined a second date.
The card arrived one month later. Santa on the front: "I'm making a list, and checking it twice..."
Inside: "And you're not on it. Bitch."
“If you don’t get in, I will have my Minion Of Magnificence track you down. My M.O.M. is not to be trifled with. My M.O.M. will oppress you.”
“You’re scaring me Jake.”
“You should be terrified. I have on the headgear of authority, now get in the bath.”
“No.” Emma stuck out her tongue.
“Heinous stink! Onward into water.”
“You are not my boss.”
“You have become my nemesis and leave me with no choice but to get my M.O.M.”
“Fine, get mom. I’ll tell her you called me sinister.”
“What? I said sister.”
The river rushes past my waist as I remove my headgear and let it drop. No one will find it now and I won’t miss it. It has marked me as ruler for years; and I am finished with the sinister whisperings of those close to me. The day I refused to continue with my advisor’s heinous plan is the day I earned a nemesis forever. I don’t care. The stars see me tonight and I am only myself for the first night since I was born. I have been a minion of evil my whole life, but not now.
I stared as Bob, the heinous, sinister minion of my nemesis, Resources Manager Derek Andrews, fiddled with his headgear of evil rumour.
“Sorry, John, he’s busy all day,” Bob said firmly, mouth pressed into a thin line. It wasn’t a villainous sneer, quite.
“I need to see him. It should have arrived days ago. We’ve been invoiced, dammit.”
“Now, swearing won’t help-”
I was desperate, and I knew his Kryptonite. I pulled it from my pocket, in defeat.
“Is that-?”
“Imported Amedei Pralines.”
Serpentlike, his tongue flickered over dry lips. “Well, actually, I do see an opening at two-thirty.”
“Done.”
Borderlining on sinister, Lisa’s laugh boiled with a tickled delight.
Finally, the tables had turned! Overnight, her former nemesis took the place of tortured minion and Lisa was left to dive in and lap it up.
No longer the object of unrelenting ridicule, Lisa wished her body could fly as high and light as her heart felt.
The heinous abuse suffered at the hands and words of the Elder were now over. Never again would she be known as the ugly one. Now, she would be known as the one without the headgear!
Goats are a way of life for Pixies. I know, I am one … a Pixie that is, not a goat. They’re unpredictable and devious. Goats are, I mean, not pixies. So I was only mildly surprised when I found Bill E. Goat with a disreputable looking cat.
“Who’s this?” I asked.
“Fred. He’s my evil minion. Doesn’t he look sinister?”
“He looks flea bitten. What’s this all about?”
“Sinister plots and heinous deeds,” he said, blinking his inscrutable eyes.
“Where’s my headgear?” Bill looked at the cat with some suspicion.
The cat licked her paw.
“Headgear? You mean your horns? They’re on your head.”
“You always were my menisis.”
“Bill – you need a bath.”
“You foiled that sinister scheme,” Sheila acknowledged, “But I’ll carry out my next heinous heist without your interference.”
Pity. He had nice shoulders, although his face was hidden.
“Remove that silly headgear,” she commanded the minion holding him.
Oh, dear. He had dimples. And a darling defiant expression.
Was this the man she’d been waiting for, the nemesis of her dreams?
“Throw him in the shark tank,” she commanded.
It wouldn’t do to let him go, but the Query Shark ate manuscripts, or the occasional cupcake. If he drowned instead of escaping, then he wasn’t her true nemesis.
“I come to you for advice, and you tell me I need to forgive my nemesis?”
Dana hid a grin at the ghost’s antiquated vocabulary. “It’s not my fault you died trying to avenge yourself. You should’ve just let her have the hat.”
“A proper lady would never be seen without the appropriate headgear.” She straightened imperiously. “Young lady, I would never lower myself to that sinister woman’s level! Her heinous behavior was an embarrassment to her gender. It’s her own fault for teasing those boys into following her like so many minions.” She smirked, taking pleasure in the scandal.
I saw an angel the morning I deleted my nemesis, pounding sentence fragments into his pea-brain with a horizontal scroll bar, while his toadies cowered in the margin. The angel was flying over with difficulty, a few sinister blackbirds noisily attacking it like they do hawks.
“Protective headgear mighta changed his odds.” I quipped, tossing the weapon into the footer. “I warned this heinous-anus there wasn’t room in these damned writing contests for both of us.”
Above, the Angel attempted an evasive barrel-roll.
“There’s so much blood!” A minion gasped.
“Yeah.” I sighed. “But probably not enough to satisfy Reid.”
I’m a victim of circumstance.
I could have been different, a protector of the innocent. What I wouldn’t give to be in a classroom somewhere, or a hospital. Instead I’m stuck as a minion of violence, witness to heinous beatings heaped upon one nemesis after another, night after night. Nothing feels so sinister as the view from above, the jagged movements and the puddles of blood splattered across the mat.
Be content with your lot, the others say. Be grateful. You are the headgear of a champion fighter.
I can’t help that I’m soft.
"You only henched two months for The Sinister Barrister?"
"Well, when he blew up Big Ben, he used me as a human shield."
That explained the headgear. But I needed a loyal minion. "One gear to the skull and you run away?"
"No. He hired a bigger shield."
"Oh." Still, I wasn't impressed. "Name one truly heinous thing you've done."
"Name it? I'll show you."
Before I could react, he'd thrust a blade deep into my stomach. Only then did I notice the telltale scar.
Nemesis Man!
His sly smile glinted in the moonlight as my world turned to black.
My name is Heinous Harry. It’s my first day back at school and thanks to Vordak I’m going to kill my sinister arch nemesis Edward Cullen.
He’s stepping off the bus. Sparkling in the sun like a cheap Christmas tree.
“You’ve got something on your head.”
He’s laughing at me but I don‘t care.
“That’s my crap-o-meter,” I say. “It says you’re full of shit.”
He shimmers toward me. Thank God my minion Ruthless Rick has my back.
Face to face we draw our weapons. Mine a chainsaw. His a sarcastic smile. He thinks I won’t use it. He’s wrong.
“What if I told you this creepy little minion brought me this?” Stan questioned, bringing out a funky-looking piece of headgear from behind his back.
“I’d say you just took a trip to Hogwarts, mate. That thing looks like Rowena Ravenclaw’s,” Jeff barked a laugh, spewing lemonade all over Stan’s heinous “discovery”.
“Well it’s true! The thing wanted me to hide it from it’s ‘nemesis’.” His fingers curled inward to form quotation marks after he swiped at the droplets of lemonade.
“Oh yeah? And who might that be?” Jeff gave Stan a sinister smirk.
“Well, he said it was you.”
My nemisis, the heinous minion with the sinister headgear blinked three times. My heart skipped an equal number of beats.
Signal intercepted.
With a deluge of dastardly underlings about to cascade from the clouds, I scrambled for cover. Bit back a scream.
And awoke shuddering.
Lifting my head from the desk, I rubbed at the ditch carved into my cheek by the useless manuscript. Wiped drool from page sixteen hundred.
I blanched with embarassment when Janet Reid stuck her head around the corner asking, "Well?"
"I'm on a horse," I answered, and slapped a hand over my mouth.
Yesterday my super Vordak asked me
What I thought of his new headgear. Was it—
Ostentatious? Pretentious? “You’d agree,”
He said, “it looks like it oughta emit
“Awesomely heinous rays that melt your face.”
I hated the hat. Really, it looked like
Something his nemesis, The Paper Chase,
Would wear. The truth would entail a hat-spike
In the eyeball, though, so I played it safe.
“Chief, you look sinister no matter what
“You wear.” He squinted. “Seventeen, I chafe
“At insincerity. Keep your mouth shut.”
“Sorry boss,” I said, “but my opinion
“Shouldn’t matter much – I’m just a minion.”
Joey slammed her shot glass down and stared at me with her one bleary, sinister eye. “Jagermeister: evil nemesis or best friend forever?”
“How’d you lose your eye?” I asked again.
“Headgear accident.”
“Heinous.” I licked the salt on my hand and slammed my tequila like a good little minion. I sucked my lime wedge, then threw it at her. Less than two feet away, and I still missed. “Are you ever gonna tell the truth?”
“There isn’t enough liquor on Earth,” she replied.
“Tell me when you’re sober then.”
“Oh, so you mean never? You’ve got yourself a deal.”
"Stunning, isn't it?" Cora asked, angling her new headgear.
"Heinous," he agreed. "To be a minion for Nemesis, you have to give up any sense of fashion."
She pouted. "I thought it made me look sinister." She turned her head to see how the light reflected off the sharp jagged teeth. "Dangerous."
"You look like you're being barfed up by a shark."
Cora shook her head and scraped her chin on the lower jaw. "At least I don't work for Babroon."
Poor Sue. She stared gloomily out from beneath a headdress the shape and color of a baboon's butt. With tail.
Jan Babe,
Hope you don’t mind me calling you Babe - I feel like I already know you.
Vordac, my mealy mouthed minion cell mate, gave me your name. He said you dig the sinister type; bad boys. I qualify.
I did the heinous to a chic in headgear at McD‘s before hash browns and coffee; I got 25 to life. The judge said I was a nemesis to the social order of a civilized society. WTF. If that don’t get me a pen pal and a dozen cupcakes on visiting day nothing will.
Write me now,
Chomp
It's no use. She looked, like, totally heinous. How could she be a sinister minion to the hottest nemesis in high school with this awful headgear? It's just not fair. FML, she'd dieted for a WHOLE YEAR for this and...foiled again. By her parents. She had half a mind to start arching her orthodontist for this—that's lame enough. She sighed and switched the chi iron from her hair to getting it to shock on her braces; maybe she could get lightning power and be the Electric Freak. Please, Nemesis Guild, she whispered half-reverently, let me at least grow boobs soon.
“Nemesis.”
“Headgear.”
“Okay...sinister.”
“Sparkly.”
“Umm...heinous.”
“Cupcakes.”
“Let’s try....minion.”
“Cupcakes with sprinkles.”
Dr. Reid studied the woman—a fortyish-year-old, currently curled up in a fetal position. “I’m not sure you understand the point of this exercise.”
The woman removed her thumb from her mouth. “One more.”
Dr. Reid checked her watch. This should have been easy. One hour, no follow-up. A clear case of mid-life confusion. Now she thought the woman might actually be...off. Off always required paperwork.
“Please?”
“Fate.”
The woman whimpered, looked around, popped out her thumb, and whispered, “Shark.”
Dr. Reid sat up straighter. Ah, now we’re to it.
Vordak thinks he will rule the world?
Give me a break; I think I just hurled.
Have you seen that ridiculous headgear?
It evokes laughter rather than fear.
Heinous, brazen, a menace to society.
No sense of shame or propriety.
Good Godiva, what's next?
The minions ask, "Why are you vexed?"
Vordak crept into the lair and ate my macaroons!
I'll force him to parade around NY in pantaloons.
Nemesis, oh Greek Goddess of Retribution,
I demand Vordak's immediate execution.
I am Queen of the Universe, the Priestess of Evil on High.
I decree Vordak the Sinister must die.
The crime was heinous: the crime scene--a deserted beach on Treasure Island--sinister. Inspector Clouseau saw there had been a struggle, for Long John Silver's feathered headgear lay several yards from his corpse, as did his wooden leg. The pirate's head had been bludgeoned to a pulp. Captain Hook, his nemesis, had finally caught up with him. "But what," asked Kato, Clouseau's manic minion, "was used as a weapon?"
Clouseau laughed. "This is an old joke, my friend, but I use it now. As the man with the wooden leg said, 'It is a matter of a pinion!'"
Headgear of heinousness, nemesis foul,
Sinister minions, and strange, spikèd cowl:
Vordak, he’s evil! Comprehend him? You can’t!
You think he’ll show mercy? No, sir. No, he shan’t.
On world domination this genius is bent—
He hopes not to tread where those ‘fore him went.
(Most world domination plans don’t work too well;
In fact most [I’m just sayin’] get all shot to hell.)
He’ll rule when he grows up: he’ll give it his all.
(Such a pity the fellow’s so deucèdly small.)
The Herpet-American minion slithered into the office. "Ms. Reid, a writer calling himself Vordak is waiting in the lobby."
"What!" Janet removed her protective headgear. "What a heinous manuever. Writers should know better." And the judge did say she didn't have to the stupid contraption around writers.
The minion's tongue flickered. "I believe Ms. Poelle recommended he attempt this course of action."
Of course her nemesis would try to sabotage her probation. A sinister smile lit her face. Which was why dearest Barbara would find a new ingredient in tomorrow's cupcakes.
I still leave a light on every night. I was four years old and would get spanked regularly for rocking. How could a boy four years old convince his parents that there was something heinous and sinister living in my room? I would hear sounds of movement that suggested evil intent preceded by a peculiar sound. Then I knew the thing, my nemesis was there. I would wear a headgear to shut everything out but it failed. To my surprise rocking kept the creature at bay! I would rather be spanked than face the devil's minion in my room.
The porch light flickered. Again, she’d ask him to change the bulb. He’d snap back: I’m not your minion; don’t make the pug wear that stupid headgear.
She cooked him tortilla soup, he switched off the golf—there were still signs of tenderness.
She wanted to tell him about the letter. The sinister intimidation of the ParkRose Corp. was worse than the heinous migraine the half busted bulb triggered. All week she tried. She told herself: he wasn’t her nemesis, Charles Marmot, Customer Care Expert, ParkRose was.
Her hand trembled, letter feeling like the flesh of the dead. He smiled, turned the golf off. She smiled back, hid the letter and guarded him again tonight from its assault: honestly Henry, that bulb needs to be fixed already.
She entered, hips swaying like mandolins on a gypsy wagon wall with the rhythm of ‘The Sinister Minister’. She took off the Harley Nemesis Helmet, shook her long blonde hair.
The blue minions’ heinous eyes followed her every move, as she put her headgear on the desk, squeezed officer’s thigh, looked him in the eyes, lips pouting, and whispered: “I am here for The Big hog.”
He could feel the sweat standing out over his forehead.
“The what?” he swallowed.
“My Harley you impounded.”
She rode off, burning rubber, leaving coppers’ mouth hanging open. They were spent for the week.
“Sparky, help me sass up my story. My headgear is all numb from the twists and turns of this crazy case.”
His head turned, fedora covering one skeptical eye. “Only for a smoke, sweetie.”
Cleo tossed him a Lucky and winked.
“Just read it.”
“The crime scene was atrocious. The man who discovered it called the perpetrators evil. Police say the victim must have had enemies since two people likely committed the murder-”
“Stop.” He took a deep drag. “The blood-spattered walls were heinous. Sinister perps, probably gangster minions, snuffed the life out of a nemesis…”
“Oh, Sparky. You’re good.”
Godiva stepped into her nemesis's lair, avoiding eye contact with the manufacturer's milling minions. It irked her to watch them drool over the cheap confections.
She sniffed the buttery air - was it real or glutinous substitute?
"No!" she wailed, pushed to the brink in such sinister environs.
A heinous roll of blubber with a nametag that read, "Gertie," adjusted her Hershey's corporate headgear, "Would you like a sample, dear?"
Godiva's eyes bulged as she withdrew the firearm, delivering a succession of ammunition. Chocolate exploded. Gertie ducked.
Out of bullets, the diva whispered, "Cry no more, sweet tooths, mama’s here.”
Clancy once slept in orthodontic headgear. Now he wore a communication headset.
His earpiece buzzed. Liza said "Clancy, left two blocks, turn right on Murphy. Vordak's minions are closing in!"
"Where’s the extraction?" Vordak, Clancy's nemesis, orbited the earth making sinister plans for world domination. His heinous plot was making the population dumber, easier to control, by poisoning school lunches. Clancy stole the formula.
"Liza - help!"
"The green doorway down the block!" Clancy sprinted, hearing footsteps. He ducked into the doorway feeling the tingle of the extractor. He closed his eyes, nauseous. Liza smiled and popped her gum. "What's shaking?"
It was difficult to take the sinister Vordak's minions seriously.
The heinous headgear they wore often prompted laughter. The look, however, was intentional. Many skilled warriors had fallen while underestimating the little troll-like killers.
For centuries Vordak had proved to be a worthy and clever nemesis. Before the minions, there was an army of clown assassins. Preceeding them, the ruthless pig-faced Atari, who could shape-shift into mind controlling politicians.
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