Death Ray for Sale (Slightly Used)

That's it. I'm giving up, America. After years of toil and suffering and the relentless pursuit of evil, I have come to the conclusion that I am the without doubt the worst super-villain in the history of everything. I've been trying to pretend, but I can't hide it anymore - it's over.

It all started with a dream. As a child I was first acquainted with evil-ology, and the many advantages of and evil-centric lifestyle, at the tender age of seven. It was second grade, and little Derek Mann had just knocked me down and called me a sissy. Now, granted, I had just cried for an hour after learning my entire family had been killed in a freak knitting accident, so he might have had a point. I was being kind of a pansy. But that didn't stop me from drying my tears, standing up and kicking him into a wood chipper. To this day, I have no clue what a freakin' wood chipper was doing on an elementary school playground, but it certainly was convenient. In fact, every day since then my henchmen wheel around a wood chipper wherever I go, just in case someone mouths off or brings me the wrong sandwich. For the last time, I SAID NO PUMPERNICKEL!

After my evil breakthrough, life continued about how you'd expect. For years, I bounced between multiple foster homes, forced to keep moving as each family mysteriously and coincidentally met with knitting or wood chipper-related deaths. I mean, it's not like I had to anything to do with those unfortunate events. Look, just drop it, okay?! Anyway, I spent six months shining shoes at Grand Central Station, two years running guns for the Yakuza, and four days as a Boy Scout troop leader. Stupid, sissy Boy Scouts and their "no stories about federal prison" and their "no battles to the death". Moving on from there, I toppled my first democracy and assumed the throne of a tiny country nestled somewhere between Mongolia and South Dakota. The natives called me Kawonda Voonga Nipple Cheewah, which loosely translated means "the pasty white doom with the nasally voice and complete lack of muscle tone, who despite all odds raised his doughy fist in defiance of the gods and wrested supreme power from our previous overlord, six-year-old Billy Anderson of Madison, Wisconsin".

After I sent that crybaby Billy packing, life was looking up and I was on my way to becoming a real, bona fide super-villain. That is until........he showed up. The man who would be the bane of my existence, the dreaded super hero. Ugh, why do they all have to wear spandex? I mean, I'm evil and everything, but there's no way I'd subject anyone to the creepy outline of my package while doling out my brand of "justice". Do they do it to distract us? Do they hope our gag reflex will keep us from fighting back?? In any case, the dreaded Particle Man had the ability to explode into tiny, meaty chunks, and then put himself back together. Now, that may not sound like much of a power, but just try getting a little chunk of super hero in your mouth while you're making a grandiose villain's monologue about conquering humanity, and see if you're feeling particularly evil afterwards. Plus, all those chunks were slippery and I fell and bumped my elbow! To make a long story short, I lost my kingdom, my respect in the villain community, and my drive to maim and kill. I'd forgotten who I really was. Even unnecessary wood chipper deaths no longer amused me.

It was then that the final blow came. The accursed Particle Man turned out to be Derek Mann, who through some insane coincidence I had kicked into a magical wood chipper. Why on this green earth would anyone enchant a wood chipper?! So that's right, folks, I gave my nemesis the powers that would eventually destroy me. Somewhere along the way, I forgot what a powerful force irony can be. To add insult to career death, Derek married Susan Pudderschlock, the prom queen of my old high school and without doubt the hottest one-legged one-armed one-eyed four-eared goddess I have ever seen. I loved her, worshiped her in all her stumpy glory, and he took her from me.

I have to confess, America, I snapped. My vision burned red with murder, and I determined to destroy the world that would so cruelly deny me both happiness and evilness. So I scraped together what savings I'd hidden at the Second Bank of Doom and bought the biggest secondhand death ray I could find. After assembling it and mounting it on my '87 Honda, I prepared to destroy the world and end my suffering. That is, until Particle Man crawled up the barrel and exploded! It took three weeks to clean all his chunks out of the firing assembly, and by then Interpol had managed to track me down. I escaped with the ray, but didn't even get to kick one government agent into a wood chipper or stab someone with knitting needles or anything! I've failed you, America. I'm not the global threat I swore to be, and you deserve to be killed by better villains. I don't even care anymore. So the first person to email me with a reasonable offer for the death ray, it's yours. Take it off my hands today and I'll throw in a case of wood chippers.