Terror Blog

2010-09-07T12:29:00.000-07:00


Captain Ozone, moments before raping and murdering a whole class room of children (possibly).

I'm back, to an extent.

Headline: Master Legend acts Strange - People unsurprised.

2010-09-07T11:11:00.000-07:00

Apparently a memory that's longer than a gold fish isn't one of Master Legend's superpowers. I guess I'm just expecting too much from an avenging Archangel.

Sorry, "Arc Angel."

Seriously fellas, Archangel.

Oh crud...

2010-04-01T09:30:00.000-07:00

This was waiting for me in my inbox this morning...

Recipient Information:

(My e-mail address, home address and real name, all removed for privacy reasons)

Sent via: E-mail

Re: Demand to Cease and Desist and Retract Libel

Law Offices

Sandefer Law Firm

711 S. Belcher Rd Clearwater FL 33764

Phone: 727-726-5297

April 1st, 2010

Via Email.

Dear (My real name)

This law firm represents (Captain Ozone and his real name), and we have been asked to write this letter to you. Many of your statements about (Captain Ozone) on your web blog are untrue and defamatory. You made them maliciously to injure (Captain Ozone) in his actions and profession. As such, they are defamatory, this letter constitutes a demand for immediate retraction in writing of these false and libelous statements. In accordance with Florida Libel Laws, (Captain Ozone) demands that your retraction and correction be accompanied by an editorial in which you specifically repudiated your libelous statements.

Your web postings and conduct also constitute tortious interference with the business and
actions of (Captain Ozone). As such, they are actionable and expose you to the imposition of
compensatory as well as punitive damages. Below, we have noted some of the more patent,
malicious, and libelious comments made by you on your web blog; some of them also evidence your tortuous interference. If (Captain Ozone) is forced to file suit to stop your wrongful conduct, he will also seek an award of his attorney fees and litigation expenses.

1. In your postings, you repeatedly stated that (Captain Ozone) sexually assaulted and committed the crime of homicide, despite knowing that these statements were false, libelous and malicious.

2. In your web entries, specifically the one of March 31st, 2010, you consistently and falsely stated the actions of (Captain Ozone) in order to defame him, and make him lose credibility in his field as an activist.

Many of these errors have been previously brought to your attention. Also, on occasion you have admitted that your postings exceeded the bounds of free speech. Your failure to correct your erroneous and false statements and their repetition after notice of their falsehood constitutes further publication of libel. It also confirms your malicious intent. If you do not immediately publish the requested retraction, and cease and desist from tortuous interference and making false and malicious comments about (Captain Ozone) we will file suit against you.

Please govern yourself accordingly.

Sincerely yours,

(Guy from Sandefer Law Firm)

The Ozone Files.

2010-03-31T17:07:00.001-07:00

Disclaimer: If you're easily offended, stupid, or both please feel free to read this, just don't spam my comment section.

Did Captain Ozone rape and kill a person in 2039?

Good evening, America,

Many people know of the costumed activist Captain Ozone, but many people do not know of the rumours that supposedly have dogged this caped crusader throughout time, starting in the year 2039 and reaching far back to the year 2010…he’s a time traveler, sometimes things get complicated.

Some people suggest that Captain Ozone raped and killed a person in 2039. Now, I personally do not believe that Captain Ozone raped and killed a person in 2039, however, it would explain why he traveled back in time, perhaps it was to avoid prosecution? Captain Ozone raping and killing a person in the future could also explain why he chooses to wear not just one mask, but two masks, perhaps it is to hide his shame, or to hide himself from anyone else who may recognize him as a person who raped and murdered a girl in 2039, if he did it at all. Even worse, perhaps it is to hide his identity from anyone else he decides to rape and murder, if he rapes and murders at all (which he probably doesn’t.)

This alleged sexual assault and homicide could also explain why he chooses to dedicate himself to protecting the environment: Perhaps it is out of guilt for the rape and the murder he may have committed, or perhaps he is just ensuring that the future has more potential victims for him to sexually assault and then brutally murder, if he ever really has committed these horrible crimes to begin with.

Even more incriminating, if these wild, and probably false, rumors are to be taken as fact, is Captain Ozone’s “Rape Mobile” as some in the media has called it, a modified automobile with a toilet seat on the roof, perfect for perching on and surveying potential rape and murder victims, if that’s what he actually uses it for.

Even worse, Ozone has been proven to have a harmful effect on the human lungs. Perhaps, if Captain Ozone did rape and murder someone, though he probably didn’t, maybe, he didn’t mean to murder them, perhaps it was an accidental death as a result of exposure to the various gasses he expels.

I’m going to state this again, I don’t believe that Captain Ozone raped or murdered anyone, I'm just a guy who likes to ask questions; however, at the time of my writing this, he has yet to deny these shocking allegations, or even stated his opinion on raping or murdering. His silence is damning, and it is only safe to assume that Captain Ozone did rape and murder a young person in 2039, though he may not have.

A time travelling rapist and murderer could act with impunity in the past, ravaging people with careless disregard to the fragile time stream. And is it possible that Captain Ozone travelled back in time to cover up the many rapes and murders against young people he committed in the future? It’s possible and there’s no evidence to the contrary.

Perhaps Captain Ozone didn’t commit these terrible, reprehensible crimes, however, he still hasn’t systematically dispelled those rumours or provided any evidence to suggest that he wasn’t responsible for a single, or perhaps even a spree, or rapes and murders in the year 2039. Until he has, we have to hold him responsible and continue to ask him to come forward with clearing evidence. We have to ask questions, America, and hold those responsible for the various rapes and murders we suggest they committed.

If Captain Ozone, or anyone, can provide any evidence either supporting or dismissing these claims, the Nema-Mail is always open.

Source:
http://gb1990.com/

Ps. This really is satire, if you don’t understand it, it’s not my fault.

The Skull Files

2010-03-25T15:16:00.000-07:00

(Tothian and the White Skull, a forbidden romance)

Editors Note: I'd just like to remind everyone that this is just my crackpot theory. I have no way of proving any of this.

Beyond the beaches, past the alien jungle and over the mound of rotting native corpses lay a solitary beach house. Now, this was no beach house to scoff at, equipped with the most exotic and top of the line technologies and wonders that one could imagine, and furnished with some of the finest fixtures and fittings one would expect. Glamorous and unusual, and equipped with a wide variety of kill bots and doomsday machines, this was the vacation house of a villain. Not just any villain, mind you, no, one of the greats.

This is where Crimson Nematode found himself, alone save for his team of scientists, action interns, accountants, personal assistants, chauffeurs and personal cooks. So very alone. This was his first time he had been to Dimension Z since his crushing defeat at the hands of the White Skull. The battle had cost him billions of dollars, hundreds of thousands of Native lives, and even Professor Kanye West.

The Crimson Nematode was here to reflect on the loss of one of his trusted confidants,

"But Sir!" Murphy, his new assistant said in a consoling voice, "Why do you care about White Skull leaving ROACH? He's a hero now! A hero most vile!"

There was a pause.

Followed by a deafening pop. A small, greasy smear was all that remained of the Crimson Nematode's latest assistant.

"Okay, look." Nematode said as he lowered his Beamerizer Ray, "He's not a hero."

"Yes he is." Stated Murphy's replacement, McNeelly, "He posted on the forums! He's ingrained himself in their community."

"Yes, I'm aware." Nematode said as he lifted up his space helmet and pinched his brow, "But he's not a hero. He's a villain."

"But he walks among the Heroes!"

"He's still villainous...sort of..." Nematode said, "Look, it's complicated. Everyone sit down."

A hushed tone took over the room, followed by every member of the Nematode's entourage sitting down cross legged in front of him as he leaned himself against a wall.

"Okay, sit down and shut up. The Skull's still a villain. Mostly." Crimson Nematode explained, gesturing with his hands as he spoke, "His Villain life was seeping into his personal life. That's a big no-no. You see, while we have our villain persona and our secret identities, heroes don't, not really, because-"

"Because heroes have no lives!" Exclaimed one of the junior interns.

"Right! Well, not really. While we keep our two lives separate, with Heroes the line tends to get blurred. It gets into a complicated 'which identity is the true one' argument. Like, is Bruce Wayne the real personality or is Batman? But whatever, that's a story for another time, now don't interrupt again." Nematode said, halfheartedly threatening the minion with his raygun, "So he needed a way out. And he really couldn't just drop off the radar. Heroes, and the greater problem, their shit stupid fans, don't really let anything go."

"Like how we're still getting flak over that DC Guardian shit?" Exclaimed Nematode's sous-chef.

"Right. You see, in that example, even though we've buried the hatchet with DC Guardian, his fans are a consistent pain in our collective asses. Now, like I said, one of the RLSH fanboys decided to threaten Skull's life. And that ain't cool." The Crimson Nematode's best sonic the hedgehog impersonation was lost on most of his followers.

The Crimson Nematode paused and helped himself to one of the beers in the White Skull's fridge, making sure to avoid the poisoned ones, "Anyways, like I said, even if he gave up being a villain, he'd still have a big old target on the back of his skull. So he did something incredibly smart -"

"He became a hero!" One of the scientists said, before Nematode smashed the bottle of beer over his head and jammed the shards into his face. The bloody, pulped scientist fell to the ground dead, and the Crimson Nematode continued his story;

"No. He pretended to redeem himself." There was a confused silence, "If there's one thing that heroes like more than defeating a villain, it's reforming one. Hawkeye used to be an Iron Man villain before joining the Avengers, Magneto was part of the X-men for awhile, there's also Quicksilver, Silver Surfer, Deadpool, Sabertooth, Juggernaut, Scarlet Witch, the Phoenix, Venom, the Punisher, Wolverine, all of them were villains and all of them have been heroes as well. Comic book nerds eat this shit up. Skull knows this."

There were a few 'aahs' and 'oohs'

"So Skull goes to their forums, says he's seen the light, that he doesn't believe in the ROACH way and that some of the heroes are doing genuine good. Same time he gets to criticize the really insane ones. Now he's got some heroes thinking he's a balancing voice of reason. He gets a wider audience to write to, and he doesn't get the death threats anymore."

There was silence.

"Wouldn't they see through this incredibly insincere facade?" Asked Nematode's acting coach.

"No, because Heroes are all retarded." Crimson Nematode stated.

There was more silence.

"Becoming a hero is stupid." The Crimson Nematode stated as he folded his arms over his chest, "The White Skull isn't a hero, and he isn't stupid."

"The White Skull is a fucking genius."

Wanted – A few Evil men

2010-03-22T08:04:00.000-07:00

Greetings mortals,

Okay that opening line is a little misleading, I’m mortal too. Perhaps it would have been easier to say greetings peons. Wait, that’s no good either, the vast majority of my followers are people I respect, my cohorts, and my peers. Even if I am an evil jerk and a malicious, slanderous, sardonic prick, I still respect other villains who are in the same field as me…to an extent.

Regardless, a broad, generic greeting to my readers,

If you have been following my activities on the blogs I follow, which you probably do since I follow the vast majority of the people who follow me, you’ll see that I’ve once again become active, to an extent. I lost a bit of steam as real life issues began to stack up, and unlike Peter Parker, who has to balance his real life and his superhero responsibilities, being a villain allows me a little bit of flexibility and the ability to sink once more in to the shadows to loom, wait and watch for the proper moment to strike once again.
Unfortunately that moment never really rolled around.

I really was waiting for Foxfire to respond to my various evil challenges, but she hasn’t really acted since she announced that she defeated a mountain.

For that she gets a golf clap. Bravo. I'm still glad that with all your poorly defined, magical powers and the ability to...do...magic things...you've directed your vast powers at stopping mountains from being...mountainous?

I need a more active nemesis. Someone who can mirror my energy. What would happen if Joker threatened to blow up the city and Batman decided to sit back and stuff his face with twinkies? What would be the Joker’s incentive to blow anything up?

So a new nemesis spot is open. I’m taking applicants and reccomendations.

I’m also looking for a henchman. Someone who wants to update Terror Blog while I’m away doing super villainy things. I’ll have to be shrewd with my application process, and any rejects will be promptly in oil to ensure they don’t move to another company. However, if you do manage to survive the application process, you will be granted limited access to some of the higher functions of one of the greatest super villain organizations in North America, your own office, access to the company gym, the company time machine, and the company bioterrorism laboratory. We offer medical and dental, but the company doctor, Dr. Hideous, has the tendency to ignore the Hippocratic Oath…and also liquefy his patients.

Rebuilding Terror Inc will be a long process, especially since I’m so lazy.

As always, for suggestions, applications or recommendations, please send them to my e(vil)-mail.

Stay classy,

-Crimson Nematode.

PS. I forgot - Next post will be dealing with White Skulls turn coat behaviour. This fall from (or too) grace of one of my trusted equals has not gone unnoticed.

2010-03-01T13:55:00.001-08:00

The room was dark and musty.

The blinds were closed.

The Crimson Nematode sat at his desk, fingers tensed, staring in front of his monitor. His email inbox empty, his challenge ignored.

“Huh.” He muttered to himself as he stood up, the dust that had settled upon the shoulders of his Italian suit finally stirring off of him in a choking cloud of particulate, “I don’t think Foxfire’s going to respond, is she, Donald?” The Crimson Nematode asked as he peered over to where he last saw his trusted assistant; all that was there now was a skeleton wearing Donald’s suit and a web spider-webs.

“Crap, it has been awhile since I fed you, hasn’t it?” He said to no one in particular as he nudged Donald’s skull with the end of his shoe. He vaguely remembered Donald doubling over at one point, and trying to weakly eat his own tie at another, but he wasn’t exactly sure what happened.

Walking over to the giant glass window that occupied most of his presidential office, The Crimson Nematode drew the blinds. The parking lot was empty; his team of Action Interns, mad scientists and Enraged Accountants had probably all left to join up other, evil conglomerates.

“Guess I should have kept paying them.” Nematode muttered to himself as he folded his arms across his chest, “Or at very least broken their legs so they couldn’t escape.”

He bit his lower lip slightly as he pondered his next move, and then pondered the next seven possible moves.

“I need content.” He said as he snapped his fingers together. The answer was so simple; everyone knew that the corner stone of his multinational corporation was his blog. More blog posts meant more visitors, which in turn fueled him to make more blog posts, which in turn fueled the demand for Nematode Action Figurines. “This means I’ll have to get those sweatshops working at maximum capacity in no time! Donald!” Crimson Nematode exclaimed, pointing to the dry bones of his assistant, “Call the Chinese Government and order me some more slave children!”

“We’re going back to work.”

EPILOGUE:

"Also, gather the remaining employees, the ones who didn't starve to death or quit. We're going to Taco Bell."

CSI: David Nutt

2009-10-31T16:21:00.000-07:00

Horatio tackles his latest mystery,

(Click for larger image)

Regular posting will resume next week! Until then, I'm off to a halloween party. Don't drink the kool-aid! (because I may have poisoned it)

Why the Republicans are making it hard to be a supervillain

2009-10-19T15:20:00.000-07:00

Hi all,

I wrote up a quick article on wastednews.com, a user-submitted news site, in an attempt to mix things up. The article can be found here.

http://www.wastednews.com/

Yup, that's my article, written proudly above an ad offering to increase your penis size.
and here for a link right to the article

http://www.wastednews.com/why-the-republicans-are-making-it-hard-to-be-a-supervillain/200910191268.html

And if you could digg it up, I would be over the moon!

http://digg.com/odd_stuff/Why_the_Republicans_are_Making_it_Hard_to_be_a_Supervillain

An Open Letter to Foxfire

2009-10-17T12:05:00.000-07:00

Dear Foxfire,

I am writing you today on behalf of one of my employees who happens to be a mutual acquaintance of ours. I’m sure you know who I am talking about, he goes by many names, but you probably know him best as Evil Nebulous Mountain Demigod (that isn‘t his real name, his real name is written in a language so complex and beautiful that it is unpronounceable by humans. It would take an eternity to merely articulate one syllable of his name, at which point your mind would explode all over your face from sheer amazement). Mr. Mountain God happens to be an employee at my company, Nematode INC, and had recently gone on sabbatical back to his home dimension.

Needless to say, Mr. Mountain Demigod was eager to return from his home dimension, whereupon he would unleash all sorts of nasty evils upon an unsuspecting world. A small hiccup occurred, when you and some of your colleagues, including Nevermind, happened to trap Mr. Mountain Demigod into a mountain in Utah. I do not need to tell you how upset we all were here at Nematode INC, though it goes without saying that Mr. Mountain Demigod was positively furious.

That is why we here at Nematode INC were thrilled to hear that Nevermind had used an improper incantation when trying to seal Mr. Mountain Demigod, and as such, he had the opportunity to return to work. That is until, as you are well aware, you travelled to Utah, waved some magical sticks around and stuffed him back into his plane of reality with the aid of some magic rocks.

I’m not angry, Ms. Foxfire, though I am a tad perturbed and disappointed. Mr. Mountain Demigod is one of the major shareholders in my company and sits on the board of directors. (I use the phrase “sit” a figuratively, as a shapeless demigod really has no use for chairs.) In this troubled economic time, we cannot afford to have one of the major cogs of our machine stuck in a mountain in Utah; it’s not fair to the company, it’s employees, our shareholders or the American Public who generously provided us with bailout assistance.

The purpose of this letter is to tell you that I have dispatched some of my field operatives from our Utah branch to find which mountain you had sealed Mr. Mountain Demigod into and to release him forthwith and without delay. It would behove you not to make any further attempts at impeding Mr. Mountain Demigod’s endeavours to return to work and/or penetrate our reality and unleash tides of horror that a human mind simply couldn’t fathom. Rest assured that future efforts to secure Mr. Mountain Demigod into any form of landscape, be it mountainous, grassland prairie or oceanic, will be met with immediate legal reprisal.

He had already shown us how keen he was to return to his job by besetting the town that surrounded the mountain he was so shamefully crammed into, with a variety of curses and scourges. It is that sort of dedication that made American what is it today, and having a creative mind such as this absent from our company is detrimental not only to us, but to this proud nation as a whole. Any assistance you could offer in helping the field agents in our Utah Branch would be greatly appreciated.

Sincerely,

The Crimson Nematode
President and Founder,
Nematode LLC.

(Evil update: I sent this letter to Foxfire via Myspace, though I really dont expect a response. On a side note, replace Mr. Mountain Demigod with Mr. Johnson and remove all the stuff in the parentheses and this letter becomes 100x funnier.)

From the Desk of the Crimson Nematode

2009-10-15T16:23:00.000-07:00

I checked my email in box a few days ago, and lo and behold there was a letter written to yours truly, one that wasn’t porn or spam (sadly). This letter was written from a supposed RLSH, though I really don’t think he exists at all, at least not in a super-heroing capacity. He seems to just want some attention, so I decided to humour him for the time being. I'll probably just cast him aside when he runs out his usefulness/goes crazy like a certain minature pirate. So without any further ado:

“To the Crimson Nematode;

Time. Time is the greatest asset of those who are patient, and the greatest ally of those who would know how to utilize it correctly. As the one who stalks the night, patrolling the streets of the cities as the swift, deft hammer of justice, ready to strike down all those who would oppose the law and defile our land, pollute our streets and perform inhumane tests on kittens, I have watched you in secret, waiting for my time to strike, and my time is now.

Much as I detest your ignorant ramblings, it does bring me great joy in the time that I sacrifice in order to read through your blog (which, if I do say, is quite a silly thing for a super villain to maintain, is it not?) only to find that you will finally acknowledge me as a true threat to your malicious empire. I have been shadowing your every movement, just as your cronies have began to probe my lines in an attempt to learn my defences, and I believe it is I, Crimson Nematode, that you need to worry yourself with, and not that brave amateur, Foxfire. And before you ask yourself, “Oh nooooo, how did you see my cronies?”, I shall answer it for you:

It is not hard to identify your super secret spy network when they’re hiding in my closet with only a party mask and a pair of Crimson Nematode boxer shorts to hide their shame.

For months now I have spilled volumes of false information upon the tape recorders hidden in their drawers (a fact that I found out on my own after seducing your secretary. You know, the one with the cute little white C-Tode thong and your face tattooed on her butt? Yeah, that one. By the way, you should be ashamed of the great lengths you went to hide that recorder in her thong. Shame on you.), waiting for my time to strike. My guerrilla campaign to destroy your fusion powered hyper-net connector was a great success, as will be my future guerrilla missions against Nematode LLC and Terror INC in my war to bring you and your villainous friends to justice while protecting the likes of lesser heroes such as Foxfire, Citizen Prime, and Master Legend.

Best Regards, your true arch-nemesis,

Mighty Mister Captain Awesome the Incredible”

Oh, are you done? Then allow me to retort,

Greetings peon,

First off, I’ve decided to spell check your letter for you, mostly because the abundant amount of spelling and grammatical errors that were present in your article seemed a tad distracting, you're welcome. Unfortunately, I couldn’t edit out the sheer amount of stupidity that seemed to permeate from this letter, and I’m pretty sure that your letter has given me cancer. You seem to have so much free time, (as outlined in your opening paragraph) perhaps you should put this free time to better use than harassing me and running around the streets fighting crime. Perhaps a girlfriend (or boyfriend)? I’m sorry if I’m too quick to assume you’re single, I would just assume that if you had a significant other, he or she would almost immediately put an end to your costumed shenanigans and force you to get a real hobby.

If you seem to hate me so much, and find my “ignorant ramblings” so distasteful, perhaps you should stop reading it? Now, I know that it seems like a shocking thought, many of my (many) fans couldn’t even begin to understand living without my writings and tirades. The reason I own and maintain this little blog is because I am so confident in my own legal prowess and understanding of the judicial system that I’m pretty sure I could write whatever the crap I want on here and never ever fear any sort of legal reprisal. Permit me to demonstrate;

“Slapjack likes to dress up like a cabaret dancer, break into sorority girl’s rooms and sniff their socks. I have this under good authority and believe it to be entirely, 100% factually accurate.”

There, see.

Now, as for my spy network. Yes, I do have a network of spies, most of them are watching various RLSH’s around the globe (mostly Canada) watching and documenting their every move. Most of these spies are easily identifiable; they are decked out in giant, futuristic armour (made of cost efficient polystyrene), with giant capital C’s emblazed upon their chests, (not very subtle, but as a super villain, I’m anything but reticent.)

I’m not sure who you slept with, though I’m inclined to believe it’s no one (see above statement regarding a girlfriend). As head of Nematode LLC, I don’t have a secretary. I find such a position to be politically incorrect, a position from a bygone era. I do have an assistant, Donald, whom I mentioned in a previous post, whether or not he wears a c-tode thong is a matter I’m sure Donald would rather keep private. Frankly, I prefer not knowing.

Now, if you want to defend Foxfire, Citizen Prime and Master Legend, just remember that they’re big boys and girls and are perfectly capable of defending themselves. But until you establish yourself as a true RLSH, you aren’t really worth my time. But as of now, you're not my arch nemesis, Foxfire is, if you even want to make it as a nuisance to me and my evil empire you're going to have to do a lot better than send out a goofy e-mail. Also, might I suggest not using your home e-mail in the future? Your name appeared on it. Though I suppose it is fitting that I, as a super villain, stumbled upon your secret identity.

Yours Maliciously,

The Crimson Nematode.

President and Founder,

Nematode, LLC.

Dictated but not read.

Foxfire, Part II

2009-10-04T11:45:00.000-07:00

(The italic portions are my commentary, the rest is from Foxfire's myspace.
Please read the below post first,
love,
-CN)

"Oh. My. Goodness.

I can't believe I never posted this; it's from June 18th or so.

I thought I posted it--I guess it got away from me.
So, in short: I AM still alive, and I did successfully complete my quest. Or so it seems. I have had confirmation from one source that I sealed the rift--although the Entity apparently retreated to its own plane. "

(Oh my, because the threat of being killed by an invisible demi-god was so high. I hear it’s one of the leading causes of supernatural death, just below lycanthropic herpes and leprechaun bites. Does the proposed health care bill cover supernatural injuries?)

"This is according to Seb, the spirit my colleagues and I have had contact with for four years or so--usually quite reliable."

(Of course, Seb’s spirit is a reliable source of information. I actually talked with Seb the other day, he said you’re a dick and you should stop bothering him while he's trying to find eternal rest.)

“In the days leading up to the vent (or, rather, the nights), I received signs and portents—…and lights in my house which have never flickered, flickering.”

(Context please? Also, what makes more sense; bad wiring or evil portents of the arrival of demi-gods?)

“I also saw a fox, and then two nights later, saw another one—and there are relatively rare kit foxes, which I have been looking for for months. I also opened a book on native American mythology the night prior to going, opening it to to a page in which a good wizard summons two foxes to sit on his shoulders. “

(Wow you saw Kit Foxes? That seals it, I totally believe yo-…oh wait, you were actually LOOKING for them at the time? I finally found milk…after seconds of looking for it in my fridge. Clearly this is a sign. Also, when you open a book about mysticism, don’t you think it‘s expected that you‘d see something mystical in there? )

"The time synchronicities were flying pretty fast and furious. I wasn’t having any odd dreams—nightmares or dreams of portent—and wondered why, until I found out that at least two of my friends were sending shielding energy to me every night."

(So...you not having any prementions or portents is a portent? Also, isn’t that nice of your buddies to be sending shield magic your way? I really wish my friends would send me shield energy to keep me from having bad dreams. If you're such a powerful magic user, dont you think they'd WANT you to be aware of something like evil gods pushing their way into this plane of existence?)

The night before, I took out my oracle cards. I only drew four, and drew those with great, immediate certainty, which is unusual. Usually I form two piles, and sort through the second pile a second time. The cards I drew were Cat (standing for my own inner “supernatural” abilities and senses), Quintessence (standing for the power of God and creation) and Fetch (standing for unknown, possibly dark, energy.) The fourth card was a mystery to me—Sylph, standing for intellectual ability and the ability to see through illusion. It was represented by a yellow butterfly.

(Okay, the random cards you pulled out that could represent anything represented…anything. And the last card you pulled out didn’t represent anything at all. I’m convinced, TO UTAH!)

I was leaned on pretty heavily—but only in the nights leading up to the event. The actual day? Well—it was oddly eventless, in terms of signs, good or ill. As I drove, I did see a blue heron fly across the road, holding a fish—a sign of success?

(Hurons do maybe three things; eat, poop and fly. Seeing a huron in the process of flying and eating a fish isn’t anything amazing, they do it all the time. If the Huron was playing a rock guitar, or looked over to you and winked, then maybe that be a sign of SOMETHING. Perhaps you’re just drawing all these conclusions in your head? I’m just saying…)

But as a I drove, I didn’t feel any dread, and foreboding—only a grim sort of determination. Maybe I was immune to the fear because I had my mind made up, and they knew not to bother; I was certainly strong at that point.

(But in your last post you said that you could feel the evilness, and that the place surrounding it was a ghost town…except with people…which I guess makes it a town-town. Perhaps the lack of palpable evil energy signified that nothing was happening?)

…Of course, perhaps the Thing and its friends had no power at high noon…

(of course…wait what? Why? When did Evil Mountain God's buddies get involved with all of this?)

I then began to climb up, up, up, to the spot my intuition and the Tingle were leading me to. It turned out to be a fairly dangerous climb. I was hauling myself up a near-vertical wall, with my feet on inch-wide switchback ledges, and a 40-pound backpack full of painted rocks on my back. A strange, dangerous situation. I realized that this would be a good time for something to get rid of me—but felt no threat from an outside source.

(The tingle? That’s not power, that’s you finally becoming a real woman. It is kind of impressive that you climbed up the wall with a backpack full of rocks. What exactly do you intend to do with those rocks? Beat the mountain with them? Wouldn’t tossing rocks around just add to the landscape? Or add to the mountain’s mass?)

I made it to the top—and then continued to be drawn to the West, where I eventually found a spot surrounded by walls on three sides, with a large juniper tree. I began to set up my objects; I had been advised to do a Native American type ceremony, which fit in with my shamanic leanings.

(No comment. Except that I hope that Native spirituality is more effect with invisible, immeasurable, mountain demons than it was with European colonials.)

After creating a sacred circle, I called the spirits of the directions and elements with traditional pahos, or prayer sticks, which I placed in the cardinal directions. When I felt the presence of those powers, it was time 1:20—and I began to feel a great deal of energy, from all of you.

(My energy was actually directed in freeing the evil mountain God. I’m offering him a position on my evil board of directors.)

This was the odd part, though—it wasn’t a tingling, or a rush, or a thrum, or any other sense of power I normally feel. It was as though I knew it was there, but I had no direct contact with it—I was merely the conduit, and it passed right through me.

(So...you didn't feel anything? It's almost as if nothing happened, or perhaps you weren't doing anything.)

Using the maze/sigil Mr. Strange had drawn (and I had painted on a large slab of native stone I carried up with me), I bound my image of the essence of the entity to that maze, causing it to become reduced to its most basic elements as it passed through it. It seemed to me that it had begun as a some sort of malicious spirit, which came through the rift, and had been built up into a god.

I left one small part of the labyrinth open, but only to the place it had come from—and specified it was a one-way door. I later had second thoughts, and closed it—mostly—but left a “crack” in it, if you will. It was all imagery—but that doesn’t make it less real.

(it was all imagery? So there wasn't anything actually happening except in your head?)

I finally, asking for help from all of my “sponsors,” the powers of Good, Life, God, totems, etc, I firmly pinned the spirit into the earth with a traditional obsidian knife I had blessed with holy water and sage. I connected that energy to the Lightning I had stored in the stone, with visualization, as well as a line of holy water. I asked for a sign, if I had succeeded—and there was a sudden gust of wind, as though in response. I knew that part was over.

(I don’t think any commentary by me could make this any more ridiculous. A gust of wind? On a mountain? That‘s totally unexpected. I mean, since when does the wind just BLOW?)

I had thought that would have been the hard part—but it had felt easy. Too easy. Part of that was doubtlessly due to the fact that I had a huge amount of help (thanks!), but part of it was, I felt, that the Thing actually wasn’t the root of the problem. It was the local rift.

(Maybe it was easy because you weren’t doing anything except tossing rocks and waving sticks.)

I had thought that the Thing was keeping the rift open—actually, I think the rift was allowing the Thing to stay there. I focused my Lightning on the Rift.

(Can I see a you tube video of you shooting lightning? Please? That would actually be pretty ballsy. You’d be a like a chubby, insane Raiden.)

This was the only time I felt that something was difficult. Just doing the visualization (Which is how I send energy), I felt myself breaking out into a sweat, especially my forehead, as I concentrated. It was like trying to push a really heavy stone with my mind. There was a door, a very thick door, into a darkness within the mountain, and I was pressing on it with all my weight, and it wouldn’t close…

(You just picture that you’re sending energy in your head? That’s not power. That’s imagination! Everyone can do that, right now I’m picturing myself on a flying motorcycle with a purple unicorn in the side car, it doesn’t mean it’s actually going to happen-…oh shit, spoke too soon..)

And then I remembered all of you, and your help, and opened myself far more than I would usually risk to outside energy. I hadn’t felt anything malicious, and I was in a sacred circle, so I opened myself fully to the energy.

(I have a sinking feeling that if you stepped outside that circle you still wouldn’t feel any malicious energies…except for my loathing of you.)

And I felt it—not as a Tingle or a rush, but as a sudden warm presence, and then the door in my mind was beginning to close, to close…and was it slammed, it tried to open again, like something was opening it from the inside—so I made a lightsaber of the Lightning, and melted, fused, the stone/metal/whatever-it-was together.

(First of: That warm presence MAY have been the fact that you were standing outside just after high noon, just saying. Also, lightsaber of lightning? Awesome. Can I have a picture? Or was this just imaginary? I told the unicorn on my motorcycle that it was real and he’s gotten his hopes up.)

I could feel there were some weak spots, I worked to seal those, to make them fast—and then I knew I was finished there. I also checked, to feel for the other gateway I had been told of, supposedly to Faerie. I “saw” another energy rift, but this one to a “light” place—so I let it be. I had been told to let it be, and I saw no harm in it.

(Faerie? Wait- What? And what do you mean you “Saw” another energy rift. Did you see it or did you “see” it?)

I thanked all of my spirit helpers, and the powers-that-be, etc, and packed up all of my items I wasn’t leaving there.

And then, I saw a shadow on the ground, and I looked up—it was a huge, yellow butterfly. Just like the one on the oracle card. Although I didn’t feel anything too intense while performing this ritual, I took that as a sign it had been successful. And I can feel the binding, like a string attached to my spirit—it will always be there, I think, unless I decide to release it. It can feel its status, so I will be able to “fix” it from a distance, now that I have laid the groundwork.

(Okay, so now you can stop the demon from ever escaping from the comfort of your own home? Now you don’t ever have to return there? That was easy enough. Why didn’t you just spiritually-tether yourself to the mountain the first time? Do you actually believe what you’re saying?)

Coming back down was intense, but nothing attacked me or threatened me. And driving back, a huge red-tailed hawk flew over my car—always a good sign for me. Hawk was one of the powers I had asked for help.

(I see hawks all the time, they live in this area. I don’t consider one flying to be any sort of omen. If it was flying a blimp with a light display that said “Crimson Nematode, go to Boston!” then maybe I’d consider that an omen. But just flying about? No dice. Do you really think that seeing animals is special? Or do they just naturally avoid you most of the time?)

I was definitely being leaned on again the day after—and I felt SO drained. It was odd—I had hardly felt anything at the time, but yesterday, I could hardly get up for work. I work part of the day, then went home at noon—I took a nap, and didn’t wake up until over five hours later. I guess I needed to recharge my battery; maybe all of the power blew a fuse or something. Has that happened to you?

(You felt drained? No shit, you climbed up a mountain with a backpack full of rocks you twat! What do you expect?)

Thanks again for the help. And, Max, I’m glad that you felt that the rift was sealed. This was an important step in slowing the enemy down, at least in this area. Hopefully those who use dark magic here will be slowed down, as well, by the loss of one source of power.

--

This may seem trivial, but it’s not, that Dark Mountain Demi-God was actually a good friend of mine, he was actually trying to escape the mountain so we could play bacchii ball.

You ruined my Sunday plans, Foxfire.

This is personal now. HoneyBun, the purple Unicorn is especially angry, and is currently crying gumdrop tears. You know how hard it is to get a magic unicorn to stop crying?

Stay classy,

-CN.

(PS. I'm also picturing myself shooting mind-bullets at you. Pew pew.)

My New Nemesis

2009-10-04T11:28:00.000-07:00

Okay,

Gentlemen and Ladies, I’ve decided to stop fooling myself, it’s time I get something off my chest, it’s time I admit I have a nemesis. God, that feels good to say. I have a nemesis. It wont be a surprise to many of my (many) fans, in fact I’m sure you all know who I’m talking about. She’s my direct opposite, my rival, the very antithesis to which I stand for. Where as I pray at the alter of logic and science, she adheres to spirituality, enchantment and mysticism. Where as I stand for morally dubious order, she believes in a misguided sense of chaotic righteousness. Where as I cloak myself in business suits, surround myself with underlings, and work in a Nema-Tower, she sleeps in a car.

My rival.

My opposing force.

My arch nemesis.
Foxfire.

And don’t think that I’ve taken my eyes off you, just because you weren’t my nemesis at the time that I just ignored what you were doing. I had my men keep tabs on what you were doing, pouring through the inter-tubes to figure out just what sort of shenanigans you were up to. I keep my nemeses close, but my potential nemeses even closer (I’m talking about you there, Captain Awesome. Stop e-mailing me!)

Now, admittedly, you have some big, heavy, leaden boots to fill; that of my previous nemesis, The UltraMariner, who as you know, was tragically felled by complications caused by diabetes. But rest assured, I’m sure your crazy ass is more than capable of filling that void that UltraMariner left. I’m ready for this, I don’t care if you are the embodiment of the fiery cunning of a spirit fox, someone must oppose your madness, and if it is me, so be it.

In the spirit of my last Foxfire post, I shall write an analysis of her latest and greatest post, the one detailing her mission to fight a mountain (seriously). I don’t care where you stand on the whole villain/hero fence, but someone this kooky is not deserving of the title hero, and will ultimately just end getting herself hurt (possibly fighting a demon trapped in a mound of dirt.)

For streamlining reasons, and so this post isn't a zillion pages long, I'll be posting the Foxfire article in a few moments.

Defeat!

2009-09-15T18:43:00.001-07:00

(click for a larger image)

After speaking with Dr. West, it is with a heavy heart I offer the surrender of my rebel army to that of the White Skull. In the end your Bette Midler audio-attack won this war of contrition. How foolish it was of me to assume that you had lost your edge, despite the handicap of retirement. All I can ask is mercy for me. You can do whatever the hell you want to the Aalders. I have already executed several of them myself via summary explosion as a sign of good faith.
Despite the bitter tang of defeat, I have some solace in knowing that it took a tactical mind such as yours to beat me.

And if it’s any consolation, I am really sorry about all the minions that my natives killed and scalped. I will return you as many scalps as I can find, but the Aalder’s are being really stubborn on this one and hiding the scalps all over the camp. I found one jammed between my cot and the wall just a few moments ago. How wacky is that?

Also, you may want to pour some drain-o down your sink, I ordered my army to clog your sewage pipes with their bodies in an attempt to blockade your house with the hopes of plying a surrender from you.

I shall return back to my home dimension upon my Nema-Cycle post haste, though that may be a tad difficult, as I’m pretty sure a pair of disheartened Aalder’s took my bike for a joyride and rode it off a canyon. I may have to call Lord Malignance for a ride home.

And please, pay no heed to the group of Aalder's advancing on your compound as we speak. They are simply there to facilitate the transfer of command, those ticking jackets they are wearing are simply Nematode INC's patented 'Surrender Vests' and nothing suspicious at all.

2009-09-15T17:59:00.000-07:00

First a special message from Kanye West and The Crimson Nematode

(click for a larger version)

It wasn't long before The Destroyer descended to committing war crimes, in this instance it was a sonic based weapon that immediately rendered anyone who listened to it incapable of critical thought, prolonged exposure resulted in the brain liquefying and dribbling out of the victims ears. In only a short amount of time, natives were climbing up to the top of the proud factory I had built and flinging themselves off of it, others were growing mullets and power ‘staches, there was nothing pleasant about any of that.

With a grimace, I peered over to Quickdraw, who had only recently recovered from his injuries.

“You there!” I screamed, trying to be heard over the sonic-weapon, “Gather the pathfinders. Take that…” I motioned towards the gift basket I had originally brought for the White Skull; a basket of cheeses, smoked meats and high yield ordnance explosives, “…bring it into the heart of the Destroyer’s compound and detonate it. Be quick about it.”

“I live to serve the Warchief!” Quickdraw said, gathering the necessary supplies from the basket before hurrying off to the Destroyers compound.

It took another hour before we realized that Quickdraw had planted a brick of Monterey Jack cheese deep within the bowels of the White Skull’s beach house. Suffice to say, the lethality of the dairy product was minimal at best.

“Damn it all.” I said with a sigh, trying hard not to tear my ear drums out, "I may have to consider either surrendering or the use of suicide bombers..."

2009-09-15T17:30:00.000-07:00

We were about an hour and fifteen minutes into the assault on the Destroyer’s compound, causalities were in the acceptable range of a thousand or so, so overall the war seemed to be moving swimmingly. It was at the hour-twenty when one of the Aalders, an older one who worked both as a commander of the tribal forces and a team leader back at the factory, rode in from the front lines. He was bloodied, bruised, and quite out of place at the dinner party I was holding at the command tent,

“What news do you bring of the battle, Quickdraw?” I asked finishing up a forkful of filet-mignon and washing it down with some warm brandy. Normally I’d enjoy a glass of cognac, but it was war and we all had to make concessions.

“It’s terrible, War Chief. We cannot breach through his outer defences.” Quickdraw said, before collapsing to one knee.

“What? Why not? You’re not trying hard enough!” I said, tossing Caviar into Quickdraw’s face to emphasize the point.

“No, my lord, it’s because you only equipped us with spears and really sharp sticks.” Quickdraw said before passing out. I really had considered arming them with proper anti-matter rifles, but after running a cost/outcome ratio chart, I realized it was cheaper to just throw wave after wave of men at the Destroyer’s compound, while redirecting my funds into Aalder breeding camps once the current generation was exhausted.

“Hrmm, I never expected this Destroyer to be so crafty.” I said as I approached the exit to my command tent, “It’s almost as if he’s got Marine-like skills crossed with a super villain‘s cunning.”

At that moment there was a thunderous crack, followed by a high pitched whistle. In an instant, Meatball, that kinda tubby Aalder, leapt in front of me, screaming out his allegiance to his War Chief before crashing to the ground, a skilfully placed coconut lodged in his kidney.

“Coconut warfare? So this is what this has devolved into?” I hissed, before pointing at Meatball’s body, “Load him into the corpse-a-pult and launch him at the Destroyer’s compound! And while we're at it, double the amount of suicidally loyal tribals standing around me at all times.”

2009-09-15T16:06:00.000-07:00

I was washing the blood out of my tailored suits when I heard someone approaching from the edge of the jungles. It was one of the Aalders, one of the pathfinders whom I had dubbed Meatball, mostly because he was kind of heavy set. I’m pretty sure that all the other Aalders made fun of him, too.

“What is the meaning of this? Why aren’t you toiling in the factory I built? Didn’t they teach you how to work the plastic mould injector?” I said, adjusting my tribal headband.

“War chief! It’s the Destroyer! We are close to his fortress, his underlings will rain doom from the sky!” Meatball responded in between laboured breathes.

“Damn! Who taught you how to speak? And where’s Kanye? He was supposed to be vanguarding this operation!” I asked, peering towards where Meatball had pointed, towards this “Destroyer.”

“Dr. West has returned to his home dimension, his skills were needed elsewhere.” Meatball replied.

“Well, I can see where this is going.” I said, sinking my hands into my pockets, “Gather the tribe, prepare for war…”

A post card from Dimension Z!

2009-09-15T15:17:00.000-07:00

(Click for a readable version. Nothing wrong with jumping on the meme express. Also, I wrote another article beneath this one, you should read that one too.)

The Nema-Cycle and a Visit to Dimension Z.

2009-09-15T12:32:00.000-07:00

There have been many things that I’ve been meaning to do since I donned my mask and space helmet: World domination, discovering how to make an army of easily subjugated super atomic monstrosities, learning how to play squash, eating more whole grains, ect. Several times I’ve been presented with opportunities that, for whatever reason, I do not or cannot take, for example earlier last month I was offered a trip to the Damocles orbital weapon’s platform, the crown jewel of ROACH’s defense plan and the utmost achievement in the field of Weapons of Excessive Destruction. I usually regret turning down these opportunities, so I vowed to myself that I would never let such a thing pass me by ever again. I was going to carpe the hell out of the Diem.

So with all of the New Nema-Tower’s operations currently on hold, I decided now would be the ideal chance to visit the Potentate’s latest conquest – the mysterious and illustrious Dimension Z. I wandered down to the subbasement museum, the area where I keep all the memorabilia of my previous victories and defeats. In the far east corner was the sixty foot tall doom bot I used to rob a bank in the southern Hamptons, in the northern quadrant was a canister of deadly Carbon NemOxide, which I used to hold most of Delaware hostage, there were newspaper clipping of my greatest triumph against the pestering Do-Gooder, and my now deceased ex-arch nemesis, the UltraMariner, who was tragically felled by complications caused by diabetes.

Centered in the middle of the museum was my most cherished keep-sake, the Nema-Cycle, the single greatest motorized invention since the Oscar Meyer Wiener Mobile. Allow me to compare it to the second greatest motorcycle that is currently used in the Super Person Community.

Nema-Cycle

Capable of Going 0-60 in three halves of a second normally, unless the quantum flux generator is on, in which case it speeds up to 60 several moments before the ride starts.
Powered by a combination of weaponized uranium 238 and Nematodium.
Capable of traveling through time, space and dimensions through the use of an on board quantum flux generator.
Leather seats.
Top speed – 8,465 mp/s

Legend Cycle

Capable of going 0-60 in about four minutes, unfortunately the operator is rarely capable of staying conscious that long.
Powered by the sheer hope that the cops don’t pull you over or that the bike doesn’t spontaneously explode. Rider is powered by whisky.
Capable of traveling through space, time and dimensions through the use of an on board waterbong.
Pleather/duct tape seats.
Topples over while taking gentle curves.

As you can plainly see, the Nema-Cycle clearly wins out when it comes to methods of transportation, but enough of my boasting. After giving the Nema-Cycle the proper preliminary inspections, I dusted the old girl off and revved up the engine. With an ear-piercing roar the engine came to life and within seconds I had activated the quantum flux generator.

After travelling through a bizarre, technicolour, psychedelic wormhole that was peppered with clocks, flipping calendars and sandtimers, I found myself in Dimension Z. Almost instantly, I was taken by the alien geometry, it was a tad surprising to see all sides of an object instantly at the same time, but after my eyes adjusted I had no problem with it. (a quick call to my doctor using trans-dimensional skype revealed that some crafty super-hero had just spiked cappuccino before I left.)

The Potentate and White Skull’s description of Dimension Z really doesn’t do it any justice, and I intend to spend a few more days reporting from this quaint little corner of the multiverse. The Aalders have been nothing but congenial, and after tearing their tribe’s leader apart with my bare hands, I was able to establish that I was the alpha-male, and after a bit of territory marking I was able to convince them to guide me around the Dimension. If I meet The White Skull, or any of his minions, I’ll be sure to let you know!

Until then, stay classy,

Nematode out.

Horrible news!

2009-09-08T12:28:00.000-07:00

(Why not sit and let ol' Crimmy spin you a yarn?)

The fusion powered hypernet connection at the New Nema-Tower has proven to be a terrible investment. With baited breathes, the entire research team, the board of evil executives, a team of action-interns and I, the Crimson Nematode, gathered around this wonderous device to witness firsthand the sheer power that it represented. It was a machine, powered by a miniature star, that would allow us limitless access to the internet and would never lag, even if we were playing WoW on one of the heavy traffic days. With a whisper of awe in the air, we gathered about the machine as one of the scientists mulled around the ominously glowing machine, and with a quiet hum, toggled one of the levers to the on position.

The hum slowly accelerated into a rumble that everyone in the room could feel hitting up against their chests as the device whirled about faster and faster until the prototype fusionable hydrogen/beryllium core slowly compressed together until a fusion reaction was finally achieved. There was a blinding flash of light that instantly reduced anyone who wasn’t wearing their SPF 50 into a pile of desiccated ash. Their bodies crumbling to the floor, and their remains blowing away as the machine belched out hot gusts of air.

“We can’t contain it!” One of the scientists screeched.

“The reaction’s not stable!” Another one shrieked.

“The tubes! They’re clogged!” One of the interns yelled, as he pointed to one of the many pipes leading in and out of the leviathan of a machine, “There are two spam e-mails, a link to XKCD and a lolcat jammed in pipe 4F!”

“No, damnit! Send someone in there.” I yelled, grabbing one of the lab assistants by the collar, “I have a week’s worth of articles I still to research and fact check! I can’t just post random diatribes! I have an image I need to keep!”

“Sir! We can’t! If we keep the machine running, cyberspace could collapse in on itself!”

“I can’t blog about your excuses!” I shouted, before heaving the scientist’s body over my head and tossing him effortlessly out the window, sending the poor man flailing into the parking lot, his body exploding impact.

“We have to turn it off. All of modern society’s culture, history and future are depending on us turning off this machine.” One of the scientists said, before an errant bolt of lightning burst the man apart like a balloon filled with ketchup.

“Damn…also gross.” I said as I pulled off a bit of scientist off of my space helmet, “Fine, turn it off! Pull the plug.”

With a grunt, two of the Action Interns approached the tube feeding directly into the machine, the tube labeled, ‘Teh Internetz.’

There was a loud, protesting groan as the machine powered down; causing a massive blackout that left thousands of surrounding cities and townships without electricity.

“It wasn’t so bad, sir.” One of the interns said, placing his hand on my shoulder, “Think of all the chaos this blackout has caused. Think about all the people that will probably die. I mean, it may not compare to a bunch of posts about Master Legend, but it’s still a massive dick move.”

“I suppose so.” I said with a heavy heart, “But still…”

I’m currently writing this from my temporary headquarters, unfortunately my new base is still without internet connection, and until that problem is rectified, I won’t be able to really do my usual research articles. Operation: Winter goofball is postponed indefinitely, though that’s probably a good thing. I'm fairly certain ML has been sneaking into my room and watching me sleep.

Updates to follow,

Until then, stay classy.

-C

Also, as a personal note, I’d like to compliment Lord Malignance on his bangin’ new costume. I’m rife with jealousy, my good friend. Your villainous costume puts me to shame.
Secondly, what's this about a problem with Dreizehn? Isn't that something you put in your eyes when they get dry and itchy? From what I remember she spammed the ROACH blog once, something about possessing strap ons? All I can really gather from that post is that she's in possession of the two most unfortunate sex toys ever.

Still on Vacation.

2009-09-03T19:06:00.001-07:00

The move from the current Nema-Tower to an even more impervious office tower is going quite smoothly. Not only will our ability to inflict mayhem upon unsuspecting heroes be greatly increased, but it's also closer to my college's campus and will save me commuting time. Also, it's next door to a half-way house for the mentally unstable, (I'm freaking serious) so that means there will be a steady supply of easily replaceable lackies and henchmen. What convenience!

If only the land lady had told me about that little fact, I probably would have offered to pay more per month. Alas.

The first post of Operation: Winter Goofball should be up on Monday, though because of the New Nema-Tower's prototype fission powered hyper-net connection, I may have some difficulties getting online, so there's a small chance it may have to be kicked off on the Tuesday.

Until then, I will be dividing my free time between finishing up my last day at work, moving to the new headquarters and engaging in negotiations with the members of ROACH in regards to a merger of our two corporations. If all goes smoothly, the causalities will be kept to a minimum. The round table discussion with White Skull, the Potentate and myself are underway as we speak. After this is all concluded, the i's dotted and the t's crossed, I can get back to looking for a decent nemesis.

(Damn it Potentate, your smoke plume is setting off the fire alarm!)

Brief absence

2009-09-02T17:48:00.000-07:00

(Downtime? Oh no!)

Nematode LCC and Terror INC will be relocating to a better, more defensible secret-location. There we will be able to perform our inhumane experiments, pollute the environment, and use our super collider without fear of anti-blackhole protests or various government watchdogs hounding us. There may be a brief period of downtime, which may effect this Super villain’s ability to respond to messages and e-mails, but otherwise it should be business as usual.

Until then, stay classy,

-C

Operation: Winter Goofball - a preface.

2009-08-30T19:31:00.003-07:00

(Master Legend, pictured here with the young, crippled boy he crippled.)

Greetings evil-doers and eviler-doer-well wishers,

If you’ve been keeping up with my blog, you’ll know that I’ve announced that starting on the 7th of September, I’ll be commencing a week of Master Legend related posts. Now, many of my (many) fans, are probably curious; just who the heck IS Master Legend? Well, other than looking like a cross between Silent Bob and Oscar the Grouch, Master Legend is a man working out of Winter Park, Florida. Every night, he dons his awesome suit of bullet-resistant magic armor, hops onto equally his equally magical, talking dirt bike, and drives around Florida looking for crime to thwart or alligators to wrestle. He is all man, ladies and gentlemen, he is a master of all forms of martial arts, investigative techniques and all of the known sciences. He dresses up and declares himself a super hero.

This man actually exists, and he’s actually being serious.

But, now you may have many questions, and I’m prefacing Winter Goofball in order to field some of those questions I have received.

Q: Why are you telling us about Master Legend? We know about Master Legend.

A: I’m using Operation: Winter Goofball to reach a wider audience, I’ve been marketing my blog to some of my fellow writer-friends, and hopefully they will stick around and continue to read Terror Blog.

Q: Wait? You’re marketing the blog to other people? Will this mean a change in tone?

A: Probably a small one, if only to make the blog appeal to more readers. I’m a sell out.

Q: WAIT! Fuck, you’re a sell out? Does this mean there will be advertisements.

A: I haven’t decided if I’m going to turn on ad sense, probably not. I don’t think I’ll make any money.

Q: Okay, good, I was about to say - you had me a bit worried there.

A: No big.

Q: Can I contribute to Operation: Winter Goofball in any way?

A: Yes, you can! In fact, I encourage it! If you have an article you think I should read, or a video I should watch, feel free to send it to Crimsonnematode@hotmail.com

Q: Can I write something for the article?

A: Hell yes. If you want to write a Master Legend themed article, just send it to the above e-mail address. Just put “O:WG Article” or something similar as the Subject.

Q: Is there any other way I can help?

A: Do you have friends? Or at least know people and claim they're your friends? Do your friends like laughter? Well, send them this way to the Terror Blog, and they will be rewarded with chuckles and chortles a-plenty.

If there are any questions, feel free to air them in the comment section, or to send me an e-mail. Also, there may or may not be a special announcement on the Terror Blog once Operation: Winter Goofball wraps up. Things are a little iffy right now, but if things clear out, the message will be up at the end and it will likely make both you and me very happy.

Stay tuned and stay classy.

Redacted: Making History Better.

2009-08-29T15:51:00.000-07:00

“As promised, today’s article is on Citizen Smoke, a local citizen hero who’s trademark is his saucy Fidel Castro-style hat and a cigarette hanging limply from his lips at all times. I’d like to say that I find this guy threatening, Seriously, anyone who’s willing to smoke while fighting crime should be inherently badass. I mean, while most heroes go around without any sort of descernable power, Citizen Smoke has the amazing powers of yellow teeth, bad breath and a super-diminished lung capacity. I’m really considering making him my nemesis, as he’s the only hero I can think of that I could evade by simply walking briskly, and it would be hilarious to see him get winded going up a flight of stairs in the middle of a pursuit.”

The door to the Nema-Lair was immediately thrown open, and the Crimson Nematode looked up from his writings to see just what was going on. It was Donald, his assistant, wildly flailing a handful of important, notarized documents in his hand,

“Who dares?” The Crimson Nematode bellowed, “I’m in the middle of writing a post, if I don’t write this, there’ll be anarchy!”

“Sir! She’s back!” Donald exclaimed.

“What?! You mean-”

“Yes!” Donald interjected, nodding his head rapidly.

“But she deleted all her messages!”

“I know!”

“But she deleted all her blog posts!”

“I know!”

“Why is she back?”

“I don’t know!”

Donald said, before giving the Crimson Nematode an enthusiastic thumbs up, “Agent Mixsea is back!”

A parade was held in the Nema-Tower, as office workers from every division immediately stopped what they were doing and joined in the merriment. Accountants, interns, and executives alike tossed large stacks of paper out the windows before joining in the ecstatic dancing. The large crowd, headed by the Crimson Nematode himself, was making it’s way towards the super computer room, where they would take turns reading Agent Mixsea, aka Pint Sized Tyrant’s lengthy, verbose, and totally not irksome blog comment, at which point they would debate the philosophical and sociological issues she brought up. Then they would get totally smashed on jaegermeister, as they did every time she had posted before she up and quit.

As the Crimson Nematode threw open the doors to the supercomputer room, they were welcomed by Hutch, the Janitor, who was standing in front of the computer terminal, staring blankly at a disquieting blue screen.

“Hutch…What are you doing here?”

“I was just cleaning this terminal when…” He gestured towards the error screen on the computer, “It up and broke.”

“Did anything important get lost?” The Crimson Nematode asked in a apprehensive tone.

“Well, no, nothing important,” Hutch said with a gentle shrug, “Just a troll’s post.”

There was a collective gasp, some of the interns began sobbing, and a few of the accountants climbed out on to the ledge of closest window and threatened to throw themselves to their deaths.

“What? Noooooooooo-!” The Crimson Nematode said as he fell to his knees, clenching his fists in the air.

“Why? What happened, boss?” Hutch asked, scratching his head.

“HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUTCH!”

It was the worst experience of everyone at Nematode LLC's lives, and we were all deeply saddened to hear about the loss of Agent Mixsea’s/Pint Sized Tyrant’s post. But with tragedy comes resolve, and after we aired our collective grief, we barred our chests and we undertook a difficult task.

We were going to get the information back.

Gathering a crack team of scientists, mac geniuses and internet-oracles, we were able to recover most of Pint Sized Tyrant’s post, and the parts we weren’t able to recover, the parts that were lost in the ether of the internetz, we were able to reconstruct with what I am assured is 100% accuracy. The parts we had to substitute have been shown in italics, as well, we corrected some of the typographical errors. Now, ladies and gentlemen, we present you, Pint Sized Tyrant’s post in it’s entirety:

*strikes Heroic Pose*

Did I hear my name called? Contrary to popular belief I am not "dead and buried", however, I did delete all of my blog posts, comments and blogger account, most likely out of frustration because I knew that I was bested in a battle of wits. I Had to take care of several "real life issues", that’s actually a lie, if I had a “Real life” I wouldn’t spend all my time monitoring dozens of blogs, journals and websites, looking desperately for my name to be mentioned in even the slightest capacity.

Well Gentleman, the issues have been resolved. Oh how I've missed you all, even if no one missed me.

My Lord White Skull, I see you're making quite the name for yourself. I have nothing but respect for a man who‘s served his country. And yes, Tothian is a bit of an oddball, but really, he’s not that bad compared to most of the Real Life Super Heroes, his kinks are nothing compared to DC Guardian’s.

Lord Malignance, a truly villainous voice of reasons. You've done well reigning them in and getting a true objective together. Good work but I'm proud to agree with you, The White Skull and Crimson Nematode clearly have been able to get to DC Guardian, as he now has a warning about copy right infringement posted proudly on his myspace, though he still doesn‘t seem to understand the concept of fair use. I heard The Crimson Nematode also tutors people in civil and criminal law, do you think he could help him?.

My patriotic partner has in fact been laid up, he hasn’t gotten out of his bed in a week. He‘s been spending most of the time either crying on the floor or staring at the wall in near catatonia, I wouldn’t be surprised if we found him in his closet hanging from his underpants with a rubber band tied around his genitals.

Ahhhh, and least I forget…the Crimson Nematode. You know, I was talking to Krampus earlier and the mere mention of the club of invertebrates...and we both agree that The Crimson Nematode is a very handsome name, and your blog posts are witty and sharp, I am proud to be among your many fans.

I must say, kudos on the craigslist ads, my deep, belly laughter broke the usually pervasive silence that dominates my one bedroom apartment, do you think you can put a few singles ads up for me? Please?

Why not just take on Master Legend in a game of Tiddlywinks...after he's had a 12 pack. Maybe the two of you could visit DC Guardian. He could use some cheering up ever since he learned that he had utterly failed at life. Oh, well!

Anyhoo....off to work on my own video for Sword Kane, someone‘s bound to take me seriously. I must say, for villain....I do have quite a bit of respect for the guy, but not as much respect as I have for the fine people working at ROACH!

Yaaaarrr

*softly cries*
PST

Again, we’re very sorry for the deletion of your post, PST, rest assured that Hutch, the offending party, has been forced on a mandatory vacation (on the sun), and we promise you that this will never happen again.

…

Maybe.

EDIT: Also, there's an opening for a new Chief Executive Janitorial Engineer, should I post another advertisement on Craigslist?

From the Nema-Tower part 2.

2009-08-26T19:26:00.000-07:00

The Executive’s office of the Nema-Tower was oddly quiet this day. Usually it was filled with maniacal laughter, screaming, some sort of loud explosions, or a combination thereof. But not no today, something was amiss. The Crimson Nematode sat comfortably in his throne carved of bronze and skulls, Hutch the Janitor had been in just moments before, and as such a dying manatee lay gasping for life on the floor. As The Crimson Nematode looked out of the window of the skyscraper, onto the picturesque cityscape, the city which he was currently holding hostage with his doomray, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of ennui, of boredom. And as he gently patted the head of his quickly expiring sea lion, he couldn’t help but feel as if there was something he could be doing with his time.

There was a gentle rapping at the door, and The Crimson Nematode’s assistant, Donald, once known by many as Nema-Lad, padded into the room.

“”Mr. Nematode?” The young, Ivy-league grad, inquired, “Sir, a moment of your time?”

“What is it, Donald?” The Crimson Nematode asked flatly, as his hand hovered over the ‘Acid Vat Release' switch.

“It’s the inter-tubes, sir, your (many) fans are hungry for a post.” Donald said, his hands gesturing towards the super-computer on Crimson Nematode’s desk.

“What’s the status on the Citizen Smoke article?”

“It wont be up until the weekend, sir. But the boys down in the lab predict a full scale internet riot by then if we don’t reply.” Donald gulped slightly, this was the worst internet related disaster since the inception of Rick-rolling, “We need to post something to tide the masses.”

“Hrmm.” The Crimson Nematode paused, before he stood up and slowly strode over to the filing cabinet across his office, the cabinet labelled ‘Hit List.’ From within the cabinet’s recesses he withdrew a single manila envelope. He brought the envelope back to his desk and sat down, pulling out a set of Crim-ola brand markers. He began to draw on one of the files,

“Would the promise of an article appease my (many) fans?” The Crimson Nematode asked, not looking up from his colouring.

“I’m not sure, sir, it would have to be pretty awes-”

“A Three part article.” The Crimson Nematode interjected, the fingers on his hands spreading apart to indicate the number, and then quickly one finger went down until only two remained, “Two weeks. Starting on the 7th, Labour Day.”

“But what will it be on-”

“This.” The Crimson Nematode set the photograph on the table, “It’s a tad trite, but I think it illustrates the point. We’re going big. Tell the boys in the lab that we’re working over the long weekend.”

Donald looked at the picture, a bit dumbfounded, he had to pause a moment to take in the Crimson Nematode’s bold action,

“Are you certain, sir? This seems like a bit of a gamble-”

“Yes, I’m certain.” The Crimson Nematode replied as he gazed down at the picture on his desk, “It's time to go on the offensive."

Attacking Craigslist

2009-08-19T19:37:00.000-07:00

I was feeling a bit bored, so I decided to toss a few advertisements up on Craig's list - a truly evil and vile corner of the internet that every self respecting villain should make use of every now and then. Just in case they get deleted (and they probably will) I’ve posted the five adverts down here, and after 30 days, I’ll toss up any responses I get via e-mail…if anyone actually bothers to respond, that is.

1. Looking for Henchmen

Up and coming evil organization looking for like-minded henchmen. Education not necessary. Must be interested in villainy, immorality and evil. Non-smokers preferred. Applicants must have mode of transportation (preferably armoured car or awesome apache helicopter) and kick-ass shoulder pads with spikes on them, preferably in the colour red (we want to look like a team here.) Security license not required. Interested parties please shine the letter N via spotlight onto overcast. Heroes need not apply. Dental and medical covered. Great Benefits! Pickelhaubes provided!

2. Evil Female Lieutenant Sought.
20-something super villain seeking evil, female lieutenant to round out loathsome menagerie of villainy. Must be into dress up and torture (not for me, but for any super-heroes/secret government agents that try to break into my compound/Toyota Yaris.) Smokers need not apply, unless you’re one of those German She-Wolves of the SS, in which case you can only smoke from those long cigarette holders. What are they called again? Oh well. Just don’t smoke in my Yaris. Seriously.

3. Bio-Research Lab Seeking Test Subjects.
Well respected bio-warfare organization looking for interested, young males for experimental research! Examining the effects of Eta-Radiation on the pituitary glad of mammals. Applicants must be between the ages of 21-30, physically well defined, and willing to be mutated into lumbering monstrosities. Research may include minor surgery/implantation of small, thermonuclear devices. Must be willing to travel long distances - one way. Will pay quite well. As much free orange juice and as many cookies as you can eat!

(please note - we are NOT a front for organized Super-Villainy, despite what a biased article in the New York Post may indicate)

4. Looking for Nemesis
Lonely super villain desperately seeking super hero nemesis. 20-something years old, physically health, can run 30 minutes without pausing. Is in possession of doomray and Toyota Yaris. Is willing to travel. Looking for male/female superhero to have climactic battles with and is willing to meet and fight at exotic locations all around Ontario. People without actual powers need not apply. Costume is necessary!

5. R.O.I.D. Rage

Super villain looking for remote for M138-XT2000 Robotically Operated Implement of Devastation (R.O.I.D.) which has gone rampant and is currently destroying hidden compound base. Is willing to pay $20-30 for remote, and is willing to drive up to 30 minutes for it. Will also pay up to $25 for useful technical support/advice on how to disable M138-XT2000 before it breaks down the 5 foot thick titanium/depleted uranium vault-door that leads into panic room. Please help!

Let's see if there are any takers!

Evil Update 1: Looking for Nemesis and Looking for Female Lieutenant are already flagged, yikes! I doubt the others will last long. Curse you, astute users of Craigslist! You may have won this round, but the war is far from over!

Evil(er) Update 2: Damn! Down goes Looking for Test Subjects. My (many) fans will be so dissapointed!

Evil(est) Update 3: Boom, there goes my request for henchmen. That's alright, I can overthrow the world leaders all by myself.

An Open Letter to DC Guardian.

2009-08-13T19:45:00.000-07:00

Hi DC Guardian,

It’s very nice to finally communicate with you, I hope this message finds you well. I don’t know if you know me, but my name is The Crimson Nematode, and I’m a blogger, humorist and super villain. Now, before you start panicking and boarding up your windows, no I’m not interested in being your nemesis or arch-rival, so no need to hastily close this e-mail and begin fearing some sort of imminent attack. I was alerted by one of my blog’s many followers, Pint Sized Tyrant, though I believe you know her as Agent Mixsae, or some other moniker (I may be wrong), that you may have difficulties with reading and writing. I know it can be embarrassing, even emasculating, for a grown adult to admit this, but I don’t want you to feel humiliated. After reading some of your myspace posts, I agree with Agent Mixsae/Pint Sized Tyrant that you may have a learning disability, but there‘s no reason to live in shame any longer, because I can help! As well as being a super-villain, I also volunteer at an adult education center, as well as a tutor for college students during the school year.

I can hear you saying, “Well, this spiffy, young fellow is making several very fetching points, but how can this be of any use to me?” Well, Guardy, I’m glad you asked. Being as we’re both Captain America fans, I’m sure you can recall the numerous times that Captain America has promoted literacy and the value of a continuing education. Old Wing-Head would always go to the troubled youth gang, spraying graffiti on the local community center walls or pushing hard drugs to school children, and chastise them about not staying in school. Every comic book fan grew up reading these PSAs, and they carry with them an important message: Though it is important to train the body so one might be able to give their many enemies a sound thumping, it is equally important to train the mind, so one can give them a sound mental thumping.

(the intellectual kind, not the kind of mental thumping Foxfire and the rest of the members of Oracle Team claim they can do. I'm not sure if I'd be able to help you with that, if that's what you're interested in doing, I mean.)

So I really hope you return my e-mail, DC Guardian, I’m very well trained at tutoring nearly illiterate adults, and I’m sure after a few weeks of work I can get you up to a functioning level. After teaching my first student how to read in complete sentences, he sent me a heartfelt letter telling me about how happy he was that he could finally read bed time stories to his daughter, I’m sure you’d like to do the same someday; with my help, you will.

I’ve already bought some level 1 starter books, and I’ll get you started on identifying nouns and verbs, and then we’ll move onto adverbs and adjectives. It will be fun, I promise.

Best wishes,

The Crimson Nematode.

PS: If you could pitch in a few dollars for the books, I’d appreciate it. They don’t come cheap! $30 would suffice.

PPS: I have an audio file of this message on my computer if you’re having trouble reading this. I had to buy a pretty expensive text to speech synthesizer, so if you could make that thirty dollars more like forty, I’d be ecstatic.

The Crimson Nematode on Health Reform.

2009-08-11T19:56:00.001-07:00

“Gentlemen and ladies.” The voice was a soft baritone, spoken in a quiet and calm voice, yet with each syllable the room resonated, “Today the topic is health reform.”

It was the board room for Nematode LLC, a subsidiary of Terror INC. Gathered around the solid mahogany table was a collection of the twelve greatest and most nefarious evil executives the world had ever known. Of course, saying “evil executive” seemed a tad redundant, it was like saying “athletic sports figure” or “witty comic” or “gender confused real life superhero,” it was already known, the information was superfluous.

From behind a throne of bones and brass sat the president of Nematode LLC, the man who had formed the company from the ground up. The man who had risen to the top on the backs of his underlings, and stabbed them in the spine in the process. Chained to either arm rest was a manatee, the shackle wrapped around their necks, and having been long out of the water, they were both very dead and starting to smell. The janitor usually came in to change them every afternoon, but today’s meeting had been scheduled early.

“Yes, my lord Nematode. I assume you want us to funnel more money into the intentional distortion of facts?” Asked Baron Von Destructo, though his voice was muffled from the fish-bowl style space helmet he wore.

“Yes, the Office of Disinformation is getting bored with all the anti-hero propaganda we’ve been pouring into the market. They want something else to mislead the public on!” Stated The RhinoMatrix, and much like the good Baron, her voice was muffled, though it was because of the leather gimp mask she was wearing.

“First off.” Said the reverberating voice behind the Presidential Throne, the very throne that every member of the executive board looked at pensively, they were both jealous of the lumbar support the throne offered and fearful of the death-rays mounted on it, “It’s not propaganda damn it. It’s established fact!” A fist was smashed against the arm rest of the throne to emphasize the point, no one dared ask why the Office of Disinformation would be put in charge of distributing fact, “And secondly, no.” The throne swivelled around slowly, a large screeching pierced the boardroom as the throne, which wasn’t designed for swivelling, protested being turned, and the dead guard-manatees left a gooey trail in their wake, “No, we are going to be throwing our support in favour of this bold new bill.”

The room was silent for but a moment, before Dr. Noir, head of Malicious Science, spoke up, “But we already have a decent HMO, Mr. Nematode, and all of us can afford coverage.”

“It’s not about that.” The Crimson Nematode rebutted as he leaned back in his throne, tensing his fingers together as he did so, “Government run health is simply a wise decision for the country.”

“But don’t we want people to be miserable? Spread despair and disease and what not?” Asked the Colonel as he tilted his white, polyester ten-gallon cap onto the back of his head, “This seems to conflict with the image we try to uphold here at Nematode LLC.”

“Be that as it may.” The Crimson Nematode said to the Colonel as his eyes narrowed behind his goggles, “When we make our eventual hostile take over of the country, I want as many of the plebeians to be healthy and prepared to work in the munitions factories.”

“But the taxes!” Overman, the German super villain from some parallel dimension, chirped in, “Look at Canada, they have government run health care, and their taxes are incredibly high. In this recession we can’t afford to be paying for everyone’s health care bills.”

“A misleading point, Mr. Overman.” The Crimson Nematode said, the board knew he was Canadian, which was odd considering how evil and impolite The Crimson Nematode tended to be, “In both Canada and the United States the taxes are pretty much equal, with Canada having only slightly higher over all taxes. But those taxes pay for more than just health care, and include family allowances, higher and more affordable public education, tax credits and what not.”

“But-” Overman started, before slinking back into his chair.

“How about this? The after taxes, the average income of a Canadian work is about 82 percent of their total pay. The average US worker gets about 81.9%, boo-freaking-hoo.” It appeared as if Overman was about to say something, before the Crimson Nematode glared him down.

“Look, it all sounds well and good, but the government is known for its bureaucracy. We cant allow something as vital that requires necessary and immediate action to get bogged down in red-tape.” Said the Rocket-Frog as he stood out of his chair, which was a tad surprising considering his jet pack weighed close to 400 lbs.

“Do you even know what you’re arguing about?” The Crimson Nematode asked, but not before continuing on without giving Rocket-Frog a chance to answer, “about 30% of every dollar in the current US health care system goes to overhead, salaries, profits and paperwork. Canada, on the other hand only uses 1% for overhead.”

“Sarah Palin said that the government will have Death Councils that will refuse treatment to people who aren’t productive to society.” The RhinoMatrix said, before grunting and stamping her foot on the ground as a means to mark her territory, “I mean, she’s an inspiration for evil women everywhere, and I'm all for killing retarded children, but this may be bad for our company's image.”

“Indeed she is.” The Crimson Nematode said with a bob of his head, he would have to phone her up and offer her a seat of power in his new world order, “But she’s wrong. The government will have no say on who gets treated and who doesn’t. The only person who decides whether or not you should get treatment is a doctor. And look at all the countries that have government run health care, there are handicapped people running around all over the place. And just to be fair, killing special needs children is a tad too evil for me. They can be used to sort screws and nuts in the parts factories.”

“Come on Crimmy!” The Colonel said as he kicked up his cowboy boots onto the table, “Everyone here knows that Canadians are flocking to the US to get treatment cause the wait times are so darned long.”

“Perhaps.” The Crimson Nematode stated, “The ones that can afford it can. But to be fair, many HMOs, including the one we currently use, tend to outsource their complex surgeries, like heart and lung transplants, to countries with even lower wait times, such as India. The Canadian government pays for medically necessary trips. As well, in Canada there aren’t any wait times for urgent or primary care. If you’re having a heart attack, you’ll get treated immediately.”

“Now.” The Crimson Nematode mumbled under his breath as he once again turned in his chair, causing the same nails-on-a-chalk-board sound as before, and having to pause momentarily to get one of the dead manatees unstuck from one of his chair legs, “Are there any objections?”

The room was dead quiet until the Colonel raised his hand, “I’m sorry Crim, I just cant get behind thi-”

“SEND HIM TO THE NEMATODE PIT!” The Crimson Nematode screamed, raising a fist in the air to summon a few of the guards.

“Nematode pit? Shucks that don’t sound like much fun.” The Colonel pined, before being taken by the arms by a pair of burly Nema-Guards, and dragged out into the hallway. In a few moments, the whole office tower was filled with squeals and screeches as the veracious man eating nematodes went about devouring the Colonel slowly. Very slowly. Like, stupid-slow.

“Any other objections?”

There were none.

“Now, onto the next matter. Who else thinks that Foxfire has a big ass?”

There was thunderous applause from the remaining board members, which was promptly followed with cat-calls, whooping and high fives.

A Special Message from The Crimson Nematode

2009-08-09T15:31:00.001-07:00

Greetings evil enthusiasts.

I’d like to take a step back from my regular posts of describing acts of villainy, chicanery and general malice and talk about an issue that’s near and dear to my heart. Originally I was going to write up another overly verbose and witty description of a hero that would make for an satisfactory adversary, to be specific, the hero The Black Arrow was to be the intended target.

Unfortunately, the amount of information I could find on Black Arrow proved to be woefully inadequate, as he lacked a myspace page and that’s really as far my motivation for researching these super powered buffoons extends to. I did learn that he’s part of Oracle Team, which is a team that prides itself on having super psychic super heroes, who use their powers to stop world disasters and find missing people.

Actually that’s a joke, they’ve done nothing, they haven’t averted any disasters, saved and lives or tracked down any of the hundreds of thousands of missing people out there. Is that really a surprise? I mean really, come on.

So instead, here’s a 100% fully accurate picture of what Black Arrow would look like if he was infinitely more bad ass.

(Black Arrow, Pimpin’ Hos and Shootin’ Bows.)

Now, onto that special message that I mentioned before. As a villain, I find it necessary to examine modern media, and it’s influence on the average mind. Recently, there has been a surge of vampire related media. Things like Trueblood, the Vampire Diaries, House of Night; the vampire trend has re-emerged, but despite all of this I still can’t find a decent DVD copy of Nosferatu.

I can hear all of my (many) fans saying “Crimson Nematode, you’re a (very famous) writer! Surely you can think of a better target than vampire-fan girls? And what does this have to do with super villainy anyways? Why the hell cant you just write another article about Foxfire?”

Well, my beloved readers, though I am aware that vampire-fans, particularly Twilight fans, are a very soft (and douchey) targets, I see potential. Potential to fuddle up our objects with their pale, boney, nacho-cheese covered fingers. Past the studded collars, plastic and wax fangs and eye-liner, there's a very serious threat.

Vampires these days aren’t the immortal, indestructible, sex-loving, blood crazed, soulless monsters of days past, we aren’t so lucky to live in such a world anymore. Instead we have a punch of pining, prissy, pretty boys talking about how dangerous they are.

Social outcasts? Prone to brooding? Wear capes? Well gee, these sound like citizen heroes.

These wanna-be goths are just one dead neuron away from patrolling the streets at night or posting harassing messages on ROACH members' blogs.

And where there is a threat, there must be a reaction. Which is why I’m placing vampire-fan boys on the Nema-List, a list so dangerous and fowl, simply being associated with it is enough to make even the fiercest Citizen hero (Master Legend?) cry like a little girl. It is designed to focus the efforts of the Nematode LLC against its common enemies, also, it’s designed so I can organize the groups I hate and rank them properly.

Pray that your name never makes the Nema-List.

Nematode Out.

PS. Commander Venera? Really? Really? There's nothing at all you find wrong with that name? That's honestly the best one you can think of? Seriously?

Watch yourself, little missy, Ontario isn’t big enough for the both of us. I don’t care if you are a hero in training (which puts you between being a side-kick and being like Superman’s pal Jimmy Olsen, I assume.) if you keep up this nonsense, I’ll bring my full wrath down upon you…which includes mostly ridiculing blog posts, poorly photoshopped pictures and satire.

But with a name like Venera, I don’t see how I can make you look any more foolish.

In the Nema-Lab with Dr. Crimson Nematode

2009-07-18T20:45:00.000-07:00

Today’s topic: Foxfire as a Nemesis; Advantageous or Not?

I’ve been debating the merits of getting a super hero nemesis. What sort of self respecting super villain would I be if I didn’t have at least one nemesis, or even two or three? I mean, Lex Luthor has Super Man, the Joker has Batman, The Green Goblin has Spider-man, Republicans have science. Being a nemesis-less villain makes me feel vestigial to the whole villain community, and I would sooner choke on my own spandex than be the appendix of the villain community.

It’s not like there isn’t a wealth of heroes to chose from. Venture to the super hero registry, or even spend five seconds toodling around myspace and you’re bound to find a scrawny white boy wearing a ski mask and proclaiming that he or she is the super hero for some random suburban community.

In my last post, I’m sure my (many) fans noted that I mentioned Foxfire as a potential arch nemesis, and I decided that I wouldn’t be the mad genuis I am if I didn’t put in at least a little consideration before randomly calling out Foxfire for a daring and climactic battle that will leave the beautiful state of Michigan a barren, ashen wasteland.

Or maybe I’ll just throw a pie at her.

So, to begin my villainous investigation into the psyche of this masked nuisance, I decided to risk the last remaining brain cell I have left (I call him Gary) and venture onto the myspace. Her myspace to be specific. What I found was a little shocking.

The latest post I read was titled “Something tried to kill me on Friday.” Immediately I swore loudly; she probably had run afoul of a local gang, or perhaps that dastardly, bastardly White Skull, a villain who’s origins include getting his face stuck in a bowling ball cleaner, had beaten me to the punch and scooped Foxfire up as a nemesis right under my nose.

“Well played White Skull“, I thought, “well played.”

(ROACH file photo of White Skull's tragic origin)

I continued to read on, trying to figure out who or what had put my would-be nemesis’s life in danger, unsure if I should be happy or not. Sure, my future nemesis just had a brush with death, but darn it, I wasn’t responsible for it! I couldn’t even claim credit it for it! As I continued to read, I started to see Foxfire in a different, less flattering light, especially since her story starts off like with this opening,

“After sleeping in my car Thursday night…”

Wow. Very chic, Foxfire. It turns out that the reason she almost died is because she got lost hiking. Well, at least I know her weakness now. Winding trails and the harsh wilderness.

As I continued to read through her journal entries, I became less and less enthused about having Foxfire as my nemesis. Usually, I try to find a hero who’s less insane than I am - it’s why I’m avoiding Master Legend like the plague, and starting to consider some of the other heroes as a potential targets.

My eye was soon caught by an entry titled “My Current Quest,” excellent, surely this communiqué would detail her plans to thwart evil, and with this plans I can easily counteract her foolishly heroic deeds.

Or so I thought.

Apparently she’s going to Utah.

To fight a mountain.

I’m fucking serious.

“Years ago, as you may recall, my colleagues and I sealed a very dark entity--a demigod--into a mountain in Utah, where it had already been sealed ages ago, but was in the process of escaping. The town nearest to it was definitely cursed; it was like a ghost town, but people lived in all the houses. They were afraid to leave.”

Ah, I recall that demigod. You mean it was you who sealed it away, Foxfire? I was wondering who did that. How exactly is it like a ghost town if people are inhabiting all the houses? Isn't that sort of like, I dont know, the opposite of a ghost town? Oh, but it gets better,

“I also have received messages and signs telling me that the creature we sealed in the mountain is escaping, because Nevermind, one of my partners, didn't use the proper seals.”

Yeah, wait to go Nevermind! That idiot is never using the right seals to properly trap evil demigods into mountainous terrain. I mean, just last year, Nevermind and I were trying to stuff a mischievous spirit into a small knoll near New England and he wanted to use the third incantation of the Red Alchemist to seal the damn thing. I mean seriously. Who uses that? What a boob.

What sort of nemesis would Foxfire really be if she already has a rogue’s gallery such as this? What if I was trying to hold Michigan for ransom, but she was busy fighting the landscape in the midwest? Plus, how am I supposed to compete with a malevolent entity that embodies all evil? I mean, sure, I'm a dick, but I'm not that bad. I’m really starting to rethink this. Maybe I’ll start picking on Nevermind, the guy seems pretty senseless as far as demon-fighting heroes go.

Further reading of Foxfire’s journal reveals that she was let go as a school photographer, to prevent any sort of misunderstandings such as with DC Guardian, I wont insinuate the circumstances myself, but rather quote her,

“I actually lost the job…because I wasn't a team player. I also was, apparently, not moldable to the corporate image.”

First off, kudos for choosing the profession as a photographer for your secret identity, Foxfire, very retro. But if we’re going to be nemeses, we’re going to need to work together. Proper Hero/Villain interaction is a team effort, and we need every part of this machine working in sync in order for it to operate properly.

After continuing to read her exploits, I’ve decided that Foxfire just wont suffice as a arch-enemy. Despite being a formidable opponent, she seems to be tied up with fighting supernatural demons and spirits and imps and the like. I was relieved to read that she recently recovered her inner fire, whatever the hell that is, from a demon. I mean, I was seriously worried there for a minute that she wouldn’t be able to embodied the fiery cunning of a fox without her inner fire.

Alas, even though her name does remind me of a dyslexic trying to spell out my favourite open source browser, that’s hardly enough for me to consider this lunatic a worthy opponent. She’ll probably be locked in a psychiatric ward long before I can formulate any decent acts of villainy to implement against her.

This line actually made me chuckle, though, and I’ll end this blog post on this note, from Foxfire’s journal,

“No, I haven't actually stopped any crimes or disasters--yet”

You stay classy, Foxfire.

Nematode out.

From the Sub Basement of the Nema-Tower

2009-07-16T18:29:00.000-07:00

You cant anticipate or control other people’s actions; you can only control your own.

That’s a little line that I’ve sort of adapted as my motto, along side “Fear me and such” and “make it bacon“. I’m kind of growing weary of the tussle happening on the ROACH board, even after day one. Hopefully this wont go on much longer, and given the world‘s collective memory of two weeks, I doubt it will. Part of me wants the Potentate to take the offensive blog post in question down just to shut up the DC Guardian fans, but the other, more able side of me is telling me that this would;

A) Be giving into extortion, a very heroic method to get one’s way, I see. I really don’t care whether or not DC Guardian was offended, I’m sure he’s a big boy and can live with the fact that a few people around the internet think he’s silly. It wouldn’t really go with our villainous persona to buckle into these demands, which include petty name calling, trolling and in some cases acts of flagrant aggression (I’m not pulling out the cyber-terrorism card, mostly because I don’t think dick-ish behaviour warrants cyber-terrorism). For a hero, he keeps odd bed fellows

(Editors Note: It’s a turn of phrase, I’m not insinuating that his odd bed fellows are children. Most likely they are buxom, scantily clad warrior women…unless that would offend DC Guardian, in which case their ewoks or something else sexually non-threatening.)

And

B) If we say one group of heroes is off limits, who’s to say that the next group wont be made off limits when their fans begin to harass us? There’s an old saying that goes “If you give em an inch they’ll take a mile” and I really don’t want to see the ROACH blog become a haven for whiney heroes complaining that their favourite RLSH is really worthy of sainthood and we should direct our attention towards so-and-so. The only advice I can give to the few heroes, and this includes DC Guardian, who see our page and see the jokes, or insults, however you wish to view them, just remember that we think you’re important enough to satirize, perhaps sometimes it could stand to be a bit more obvious, but really, we try to be as harmless as possible.

And really, if you want, you can call any of us out on it specifically on a variety of issues, I’m sure every member of ROACH and every member of the RLSH community is just itching to find a nemesis. My former nemesis, the Ultra-Mariner, unfortunately succumb to complications caused by diabetes just recently.

RIP Big guy.

Now, in the spirit of David Letterman,

For what it’s worth, I extend my apologies only towards DC Guardian’s daughter if she was in any way or shape offended by the accusations that her father was a pedophile. There’s nothing really funny about that, and when given context, it should be inappropriate. The joke itself was flawed and is utterly hollow compared to the perception it has produced. I'm apologizing because judging by the life you lead, judging by the fact that your parents seem to be in a bitter custody dispute, a superpowered one at that, your life's going to be pretty messed up, and the last thing you need is a group alledging that your dad's superpowers include a super bad touch.

However, I don’t approve, however, of the medieval and belligerent attitude taken by many of DC Guardian’s fans, so if DC, or any of his underlings, were offended, they’re welcome to toss themselves off a bridge or grow a thicker skin; it’ll serve you well while you explore the internet. Lots of things make you mad, but throwing temper tantrums until you get what you want is no way to affect positive change.

But that’s all just me whining - boo-hoo, poor little villain is getting annoyed.

Now, onto other matters,

I’m thinking of picking Fox Fire as my new nemesis, she lives close enough that I could get there via an overnight drive/grayhound but she doesn’t live close enough that she could come to my house and kick my ass without me being prepared. I view myself as an open minded and equal-opportunity villain, and I feel Fox Fire would make a fine arch enemy - though I’m pretty sure she could still kick my ass inside out.

(Is she possibly a cannibal?)

Until next time,

Fear me and such,
The Crimson Nematode.

From the Nema-Tower.

2009-07-16T11:15:00.000-07:00

Ahem.

Now where was I. Indeed, through my countless exploits of villainy and chicanery, there have been many a person who has wanted to be like me; John Wilkes Booth, for instance, totally stole all the credit for the Lincoln assassination. He wanted to do it with a derringer. I did it with a plasma pistol, far more effective, though the deafening roar of superheated gas rendering Lincoln’s poor skull into a molten puddle drowned out my favourite part of the play, where Harry Hawk says “Don't know the manners of good society, eh? Well, I guess I know enough to turn you inside out, old gal; you sockdologizing old man-trap!" But alas, I suppose I’ll return and see the rest of Our American Cousin one of these days.

But never before have I had to go to such great lengths to not only confirm my identity, but also to prove to White Skull that I’m not some sort of limey, backstabbing, do-gooding hero sympathizer.

Rest assured, I’m not.

I attribute this hostility to the fact that I choose to contact the White Skull through less conventional methods; namely my you tube account, rather than the more practical method I typically resort to when sending messages to my superiors. My preferred method is a hand written letter tied to the handle of a knife, delivered quietly to the recipients spine, it’s how I paid my taxes every year, and as of now I’ve yet to have any issues with it.

But the even greater insult, the salt in the wound as it were, is the fact that I’ve still yet to be recognized as the truly marvellous villain I am. Even though I’ve yet to accomplish a single act of villainy in the last century, except for that time I gave that one girl an eating disorder in high school, I anticipate that this problem will soon be addressed and rectified. If not, I will have to enter into aggressive negotiations with the ROACH board of trustees. I'm sure after the fallout has cleared, I'll be a member of ROACH.

Now if you excuse me, I shall return to my Lily Allen music videos.

Fear me and such,

The Crimson Nematode.

PS. I hope you believe I am the Crimson Nematode now, and you were right not to trust me - you still shouldn't.

Hey White Skull

2009-07-16T10:39:00.000-07:00

I AM Crimson Nematode, you twat.

Do you see what befalls my enemies?

Well, actually in this case, she's not my enemy, I'm just making a slap-friend with that poor woman's face.