October 2, 2013
Dear
Diary,
Well
it has just been a whirlwind couple of weeks. I bet you thought I would never
check in again. I don’t even know where to start!
Another
therapist has bitten the dust, but for the first time it wasn’t my fault. Not
even laterally. Not even me pretending it wasn’t my fault only to admit by the
end of the entry that it was, indeed, my fault. Nope. No way.
Bart
killed him.
You
read that right. Bart killed Dr. Jackson. The man was on his way to recovering
nicely when Bart ended Jackson’s life. I wondered at first if it wasn’t
accidental, but Bart confessed later on to pulling a gun and blowing the man’s
brains out of the back of his head. And why? Because Dr. Jackson spoke ill of
me.
Ah,
I guess it was laterally my fault after all.
The
point is, the moment Dr. Jackson regained consciousness he began shooting off
his mouth about me and my company and my work. And of course being the loyal
minion Bart is, well, he couldn’t abide by such lip. So, he blasted those lips
off. And thank heavens he did. Imagine the nerve of some people. I mean, I said
I was sorry for almost cutting him in half. You’d think that would be enough
for a professional. But no. He had to get personal about it. I understand the
word bitch came up many, many times. Bart is a good minion. I should reward
him.
Note to self: Get Annie to get Bart a
prezzie.
Oh!
I almost forgot to tell you, diary. I have a new assistant. Her name is Annie
and she came to me highly recommended from the temp agency Temporary Insanity.
For a temp, she is quite the find. Loyal, hard working, takes direction well.
In fact, she has lightened my load quite a bit. I don’t have to worry about the
little things anymore. No more fretting over silly forms or budgets or
schedules. I can turn my mind to higher troubles.
Like
how to finally get my claws into Sterling.
Annie
has a few ideas about that too, and I must admit, one or two of them may turn
out to work. Of course, I will take the credit if they do. Thus is the life of
having a villainess as a boss lady. She gets the satisfaction of a job well
done and I get the kudos for a brilliant idea. It’s a win-win for both of us.
Well, for me, at least. And that is all that matters, right?
October
promises to be a busy month again. Just like always. As if life as a villainess
wasn’t complicated enough, every bad guy from here to eternity insists on you
coming to his Halloween party. It’s like the moment a fellow evil mind hears
you own a vagina, suddenly you become nothing but the token female. I mean, I
know plenty of other villains that own vaginas, but they don’t have their
inboxes flooded by a half a billion party invites begging them to fill out the
ranks, as it were. Granted, their vaginas are usually kept in jars or sewn onto
some monstrosity. Perhaps that is the difference? Who knows?
Speaking
of vajayjays, I have some bad news. Dr. Astic is back from Peru, and while
I am glad he is safe and sound, he isn’t quite the same. To be blunt, he’s lost
his manhood. That’s right. The Peruians … Perusians … Peruites? What in the
hell are they called? I’ll start again.
Those
bastards down in Peru
turned his own machine against him and changed his gender. Normally, the
subject explodes after a few hours of changing. But my Astic, being the clever
man he is—or rather was—managed to stabilize his genetics and keep from blowing
up. I am just torn up about it. As you know, dear diary, I wasn’t exactly in
love with the man. He was just a fiend with benefits. But now those benefits
have changed in origin. He is essentially the same Astic, just … well,
bitchier.
Yes.
I said it. Now that he is a woman he has lost his masculine evilness and just
seems like a bit of a bitch. God, it’s like admitting to liking easy listening
after a lifetime of hard rocking, isn’t it? It always perturbs me when men say
that I’m not really an evil genius. I’m just as evil as they are, damn it! Strong
men are always thought of as hardcore or heavy handed or intense. But strong women?
We are just bitches. Oh, she must be on her period. She must’ve missed a shoe
sale. She must just need a man. Sure, I need a man … to dip in my vat of acid!
Yet
now that I am on the other side, well, it’s true! Dr. Astic isn’t evil anymore.
Just fussy, like a whiney baby. And that man is in dire need of a pedicure. Seriously.
If he is going to start wearing open toed shoes, he needs to get those bear
claws clipped before he starts spearing minions left and right. Mostly right.
Really. That big toe looks like a freaking steak knife.
And
I won’t even get into the whole sex thing. I mean, I am not apposed to the
frisky fling with a lady friend every once in awhile, but my mainstay is male
attention. I love men. A strap on can only do so much. A lady like me needs a
genuine love muscle rocking her vaginal world. And now my fiend with benefits
is gone. Poof! Vanished into thin air like so much melting cocksicle in the
warm afternoon sun.
Note to self: Get Annie to make me
another batch of cocksicles. Momma needs cool, cool lovin’.
The
whole thing has me in the dumps. I can’t even bring myself to green light an
invasion project, much less direct a staff meeting. I’ve let Annie run the
place on her own for the last few days. Thank evilness she has been here for
me. I mean, I always have Bart, but this is one time I need the comfort of a
fellow gal. And I mean a gal with the original factory parts. I suppose I will
have to pull myself together soon, lest I miss out on all of those parties.
Oh,
now there is an idea. I was just bitching about the parties being full of
nothing but gropey men. So many man filled social events and so little women.
And by little women I mean the female attendance will be fewer than the male. I
did not mean midgets would be attended. Ugh. See? I can’t even think straight.
I should go before I say something else stupid.
Yes,
yes, Caligula pointed out that it is far too late for that. Har. Har. I tell
you what, sometimes I think I should come up with a testicle growing ray just
so I can lop his off again.
Wait
up. A testicle growing ray? Now then, that has promise as well.
Note to self: Get Bart to draft just
such a ray.
Until
we meet again,
Sylvia
