The Beautiful But Evil Space Princess knew something was wrong before she approached her lair. She was almost sure she had left the spot light on over the piranha tank, but now it was turned off. And it was strangely cold in the lair, usually kept at a comfortable 86 degrees (Hey, you get an evil lair, you keep it at any temperature you want.)
But more importantly no chirpy voice greeted her at the door. No supercomputer-engineered-for-world-domination said “Welcome oh, dread one, how may thy trembling minions serve you.”
Because she wasn’t born yesterday or even the day before, the BBESP decided she could not go in through the front door. (Yep, she could see the piranha tank from the front door. It was right in front of the picture window.)
She couldn’t even use her secondary entrance, through the basement.
So she climbed the lookout tower by the lair. By the time she reached the top, she’d torn her beautiful but evil black dress, and she was in a p*ssy mood, not improved by finding that some joker had relocated the piranhas right on top the tower, where she would have to climb in if she came in through the window.
Fortunately she had no intentions of going in. Instead she swung from the tower onto the balcony of her beautiful but evil lair, and jimmied the bedroom door open.
As she’d expected none of her enemies had made it to the bedroom. They had doubtlessly looked in and run away screaming, since she had made every surface the sort of glowing pink that only an evil soul can withstand for very long.
This was good because it gave her the time needed to open the weapons cache under the bed. This meant when she went out to face the world, she could shoot the bad guys through the head.
It took her a little longer to bring her computer up to snuff again, and then she had to get someone to put the piranhas in their proper tank once more. Fortunately her minions had survived, having had the foresight of hiding in her bathroom, which is even more pink than her bedroom.
The minions fed the bad guys’ bodies to the piranhas. And the BBESP could settle down in her armchair and write this post to communicate to her remote minions.
This is a slightly (very slightly) fictionalized account of my day. With more explosions, deaths and piranhas. But not markedly more stressful.
Somebody bring me a drink.