2/14/19

Chummy Sun Chew Chunks Cereal


2/12/19

Space Conquerers


2/11/19

The Adventures of Bubbles


2/7/19

Trouble Sleeping


2/6/19

Bond Villain Discourses - The Lounge Escapes.

Ah! Mister Bond! How nice of you to come by. I do hope my semi-robotic iguanas didn't give you too much trouble at the back door. Oh, of course they didn't. What was I thinking? A few battery-powered reptiles would barely slow down MI-6's top agent, would they? Please make yourself comfortable.
Please, have a seat. I assure you that you are going to be here for some time. For the rest of your life, say? What's that puzzled expression on the front of your head? Are you somehow unfamiliar with flat-pack furniture? It's the perfect storage solution for the villain on the go whose secret lairs are routinely and inconveniently exploded by pesky British spies. Tell me, Double-Oh Seven, where do you store all your books, in your hyperdimensional non-Euclidean nullspace? I believe I have an extra IKEA catalog on one of these shelves somewhere. Here, just let me turn around for a moment and find it for you.... Damn and blast! Where has he gone? Guards! Find Bond at once!


Ah! There you are, you naughty secret agent person! No, don't move. This dental drill is fully functional and partially rusty, I promise you. Don't believe me? Oh, I do hope you make me prove it, Mr. Bond. Well, what do you expect when you barge into my dentist's-office-waiting-room-themed chamber!? You really are a disrespectful fellow, Double-Oh-Seven, and not a little obtuse. I have half a mind to force you to tidy the couch's throw pillows at drillpoint, just to teach you a lesson. Oh, never mind that. I'll just grind your teeth to powder and have done with you, ha ha. But you'll never sit still for that. I'll have to drug you first. I have the evil respirator right here... no, wait, it's right he... oh, nertz. It must be in the other torture chamber. Honestly, would it be too much to ask to have two evil respirator masks? Hey, maybe it's behind the couch.... CURSES! Come back here!!!! Guards!!!!

g
Aha! Found you! Such a slippery fellow, Mister Bond. How do you like my extra-verdant evil contemplation room? You'll notice the rug is very grass-like, and the diffused lighting is both soft and flattering to all skin types. I worked for years seeking the best lighting scheme for my skin type: combination skin with an oily t-zone, and I must say this room makes me feel both more sinister and less pouchy, especially of an afternoon. Please, have a seat on my minimalist sectional sofa-lounge. You will find the comfort quite astonishing. HAH! You have fallen into my little trap! Those plants are carnivorous weeping Madagascar vines! Vines, seize him! I said SEIZE HIM! Aww, mother FUCKER! Guards! Locate Bond immediately, and swap in the correct vines at once! These vines aren't carnivorous at all! Honestly, what do I pay you for?


Aaaaaah! Found you! My compliments to MI-6's cardiovascular training regimen, Double-Oh Seven. You are very quick through the stairwells. It shall, however, avail you nothing, for you see, you have only escaped the frying pan and fallen into the groovy fire! Welcome to my funkadelic conversation space. The stripes say "Race me", but the cushions say "What's your hurry?" Ah, I see you've noticed my cast iron menagerie. Yes, they're real, Mr. Bond. Or, they once were, but they displeased me. So it goes with those who try my patience. Let that be a lesson to the other Siberian cranes and cape hares. I will brook no argument from insolent fauna! But I digress. Where were we? We are not so different, you and I. Unlike the arrogant cape hare on the end table, you understand the realities of international crime, don't you Mr. Bond? May I offer you a black apple? Or do you prefer white? I grow them underground, so they are completely uncontaminated by sunlight. Here, let me simply bend down and get one for you from the apple bowl... SON WHO IS OF A BITCH! How did he do that? GUARDS, godammit!


AHA! At last you are weary, Mr. Bond! I must confess I'm a little winded myself. But in your torpor, you have made your final error! You have chosen to, how you say, "take a load off" in my own private Impossichair. That one corner of it seems to float without any visible means of support! Impossible, you say? This is only the beginning of what the Impossichair can do! For, you see, it is keyed to my unique DNA signature alone, and no other may sit in it. That "rug" on the floor? HAH! That's Sean Connery! The Impossichair exploded him all over the place! Please help yourself to a snifter of oxygen, because any second now, you're totally going to be blown up and stuff! Hahahahahahahahaa! Any sec... oh come on. Didn't my minions charge it? Useless fools! Where's the...? Ugh, micro USB cords. Worst frikkin' connector ever devised, am I right? Goddam little trapezoidal plug piece of shit that's never the right way up.... OH COME ON! Guards!!!! FIND BOND AT ONCE!!!!!

2/4/19