Spectacles, Testicles, Wallet, Watch Out!

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