02 December 2005

Mother stopped by for a cuppa.

She does that every so often. Her other two children are actually achievers of the type that she can brag about, but as a mother, what can you say about your Evil Scientist offspring?

“Well, he hasn’t been arrested recently. That I am aware of, anyway; and it’s been days since he was in the asylum” is about the only thing I can come up with.

So she pops round once in a while to look for things she can tell her friends about. I showed her my latest orbital mutagenetic beam.

“I’m going to test it on Senators.” I said, suspecting that she wasn’t listening.

“That’s nice dear.”

“I’m going to give Frist radioactive breath and scaly armored skin, Barbara Boxer Claws and some sort of Fran Driescher shriek weapon and wings. I’ll grow them both to 30 meters or so, then they can battle it out on Pay-Per-View. I’ll make millions!”

Well I would! Don’t try to tell me that you wouldn’t pay to watch that.

“Uh-huh. Listen dear, after you take over the world, what are you going to do?”

Well, I suppose, build a palace or two, and demand tribute and pressies from the admiring masses, but...

What do you get a man who has everything?

Well, a course of antibiotics and a stern lecture about avoiding cheap prostitutes, I suppose, but that was not really what she was on about. Fact is, I haven’t really thought it through.

Hmmm. Bond’s new job will be hand cleaning a particularly messy equatorial sewer and there’ll be an annual “Make Fun of a Random Country (Chosen by Lottery, that France will Mysteriously Keep Winning)” day but other than that, I’m stumped.

What would you lot do?

And that's the way I likes it.