Saturday, July 15, 2006

Breakfast with the Thinker

Comics Shall Bow Down Before Doom!
Mad? Yes. Deadly? Hardly.Upon receiving a communication from the one who calls himself "The Mad Thinker," correctly predicting my return (to the hour) in Manhattan and requesting an audience in the regal splendour of my Latervian Embassy, Doom was suspicious but intrigued. What could a man of such intellect but little effective power have that could be of any interest to Doom? There is a certain amount of respect to be afforded to a man with scientific and theoretical skills, but how intelligent can such a man be if he has never defeated the Fantastic Four? And do not dare to reply that Doom has not yet enforced an effective defeat upon Richards and his mutated hangers-on...Doom answers not to your accusations, and may reply in swift but deadly force as retaliation for daring to speak those thoughts aloud. In any case, Doom's plot against Richards is an ever-evolving and continuing plan...only the simple and the unimaginative would choose to believe I have been defeated in the past when in truth my perceived "defeats" have been part of my ultimate master plan to maneuevr Richards precisely where I wish him to be before the final mortal strike. If not that, then the defeat was of one of my Doombots, not my own royal person. Remember that, lackeys. Doombots may be defeated. Doom cannot.

Doom is a man of habit but never one of predictability. So instead of allowing the inferior-intellected yet noneheless dangerous Thinker access into the sanctity of the Latverian embassy, Doom instead suggested decreed a meeting on neutral territory: a breakfast meeting at the Plaza Hotel restaurant, where Doom has in the past met and dined with several dignitaries including heads of state, self-styled "supervillains," and the ill-advised meeting with the crazed American starlet who wished to produce an "action movie" within the boundaries of Latveria. The foolish Hauptmann agreed to and set up the meeting, attempting to convince me it would be a positive portrayal of my beloved country not only on the screens of the world's cinemas but would also bring American money into the economy. After I ordered Hauptmann flayed in the dungeon, I attended the meeting because Doom is a man of his word, even if it is merely a foolish lackey who is unworthy of speaking the word of Doom. That she showed up for our meeting dressed in the manner of a common street woman and took familiar liberties in touching the person of Doom was enough to conclude that no such movie was to be filmed in my domain, and that any Hollywood actor or movie company personnel spotted within our borders would be summarily destroyed by my robot sentinels. That the eventual motion picture opened at "number one" and made in excess of two hundred seventy million American dollars is of little importance to Doom, who prefers the works of more sophisticated directors.

Doom was therefore surprised to learn that the Plaza is no longer a hotel open to the public but is in fact now private residences, thus denying Doom the eggs benedict which was the specialty of the kitchen, a meal that would, did Doom submit to the physical needs of his lessers, make "your mouth water." I discovered the Thinker moping sadly on the steps of the Plaza, having been denied entrance by the doorman, in part because of his unorthodox manner of dress: his baggy green jumpsuit is not apparently considered in fashion by the decadence of the American system refusing to recognize the superiority of intellect and power.

Filthy urchin!I was myself ready to personally befoul my hands by throttling the neck of the lackey, but was disassauded to by the appearance of a blonde-haired young female urchin who darted between Doom's legs, shouting and squealing as she was dragged by her insect of a fluffy canine into the building. Demanding why such a child was allowed to enter the Plaza when Doom and the Thinker were not, the doorman attempted to explain with words that meant nothing to Doom: "Miss Eloise lives here with her nanny. She's lived her all her life. She's only six." It occurs to me I have seen the child before in a painting that hangs in the Plaza itself, and was determined to step forward, to show this brat the folly of assaulting her elders and betters, and to ensure that a more proper painting were hung in a place of honor in the lobby. The Thinker, however, stayed my hand by whining of his hunger for breakfast, and so Doom was reluctantly forced to agree that it was well past time for breakfast. After convincing him that no, you cannot actually get breakfast at Tiffany's, the disappointed Mad Thinker and I retired to a diner off Fifth Avenue, where we took command of a booth from a family of tourists.

The Thinker outlined his proposal during the meal, but Doom's attention was not focused upon the scientist. Doom's eggs were runny and undercooked, and the ham tough and gamy, requiring it to be cut up in very tiny pieces to fit easily through the grid of Doom's armored face plate. Despite my imperious and commanding gestures, however, the waitress was not attentive and neither brought Doom a sharper knife, a clean fork to replace the filthy one given him, nor did she refresh Doom's cup of coffee. The toast as well was burnt and the only choice of spread for it was "Multiberry Jelly," not the strawberry jam Doom prefers and demands. Doom felt justified in rewarding this less than satisfactory attention with only the most perfunctory of gratuities, to which she impudently replied "Wow—Ten percent! What a spender!"

To the Thinker's protests, I waved him off and sent him on his way. I am not interested in his joint plan to destroy the Fantastic Four. Bah! Doom needs no help. Despite what you may have seen in the past, Doom does not "team up" with super-villains—Doom has the power and might to work alone. Doom needs no help to destroy the Fantastic Four. And then, that waitress. And Doom shall not forget the blonde-haired brat at the Plaza, either. I shall destroy her. No doubt she counts among her friends the mewling brat Franklin Richards, son of Reed Richards, and while Richards himself may be the first enemy I destroy, this little girl has made my list. Do you hear me, you impudent urchin! I shall destroy you when you least expect it.

But you first, Richards. I shall destroy you! Destroy you, Richards!

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