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davywavySince time immemorial, wannabe Global Supervillains have kidnapped 'scientists' and 'geniuses' in order to build their doomsday weapons with an eye to world conquest, and every single one of these Global Supervillains has singularly failed to build an effective doomsday device or conquer the world. From this we can infer one thing: that the scientist-kidnapping method is obviously deeply flawed.
Thomas Edison once observed that Genius is 'One percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent perspiration' and this comment has led me to realise where the supervillains of yesteryear have gone wrong.
As such, as a part of my ongoing campaign of world domination, I'm not going to kidnap scientists. I'm going to kidnap sweaty people.
After all, they're ninety-nine times more likely to be geniuses than inspired people.
My kidnap plan will be simplicity itself. I'll put up a sign reading "Buffy the Vampire Slayer fan convention! Free Pringles for all!" above the open back of a container lorry and then listen for the rumble of pudgy feet as geeks from all around thunder up the (low-gradient) ramp into the back. From there, it's a quick slam of the rear doors and I'm off down the motorway to my secret volcano base with nothing more than plaintive cries of "Where's my Pringles?" from the back ringing in my ears.
Once at my base, I'll force the plump geeks to wear heavy nylon sweaters and lock them in a sauna until they've invented me a death-ray machine.
It can't fail.
Thomas Edison once observed that Genius is 'One percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent perspiration' and this comment has led me to realise where the supervillains of yesteryear have gone wrong.
As such, as a part of my ongoing campaign of world domination, I'm not going to kidnap scientists. I'm going to kidnap sweaty people.
After all, they're ninety-nine times more likely to be geniuses than inspired people.
My kidnap plan will be simplicity itself. I'll put up a sign reading "Buffy the Vampire Slayer fan convention! Free Pringles for all!" above the open back of a container lorry and then listen for the rumble of pudgy feet as geeks from all around thunder up the (low-gradient) ramp into the back. From there, it's a quick slam of the rear doors and I'm off down the motorway to my secret volcano base with nothing more than plaintive cries of "Where's my Pringles?" from the back ringing in my ears.
Once at my base, I'll force the plump geeks to wear heavy nylon sweaters and lock them in a sauna until they've invented me a death-ray machine.
It can't fail.
