Every good super-villain needs a base of operations, right? And let's face it, Grandma's condo just isn't having the intimidating effect on my enemies that I was hoping for; nor is it providing many opportunities for the disfiguring accident that usually precedes the transition from normal villainy to super villainy. However, this place might be a good step up, and it's in my home state, right by the major freeway!
http://cgi.ebay.com/Titan-Missile-Base-Central-Washington_W0QQcmdZViewItemQQcategoryZ1607QQihZ009QQitemZ190132455924QQrdZ1Unfortunately, the price tag requires the kind of money I'd have only AFTER becoming a supervillain, and yet, to become a supervillain, I need this place. It's kind of a bind, you see?
So, borrowing a page from Something Awful, I thought I'd take up a collection from the UV. If everyone here spots me $15000.00 USD, I can buy this place and pay you all back when I start robbing banks with my vicious remote controlled cloned dinosaurs.
Also, I'll have plenty of room, so you and your families can all come live with me in what I'm tentatively calling Loveshack's Loveshack/Death Mountain Terrordrome. We will be a self-contained society, sort of like Sealand, but with more space and with more military power. No more taxes! No more boring jobs! Also, living in my base will afford you the highest of honors; working as my lackeys! However, unlike your current day-to-day job, working as my henchpersons under the watchful eye of myself and Coozie Fantastica, my sexy and deadly second-in-command, will be an adventure every single day! One day I might need you to kindnap scientists to make them build a satellite relay to melt the polar icecaps; another day I might need you to dig up the remains of history's most brilliant military strategists to extract their DNA for sinister purposes. The only bounds on the eccentricity of your workday are the same bounds on my imagination. And let's face it, as time goes on and I become more and more steeped in megalomania, the limits of my imagination will more and more indistinct. Just don't screw up, or I'll feed you to the Rancor. I don't have one yet, but I'll find something to use as a placeholder until I can acquire one; right now a musk ox seems the best candidate.
And last but not least, there's the added satisfaction of knowing that you and your loved ones are safe in
Loveshack's Baron Von Hateshack's Loveshack/Death Mountain Terrordrome and as such can weather virtually any apocalyptic scenario, (both those caused by the machinations of Fate and the machinations of Baron Von Hateshack),
COMPLETELY UNHARMED World War III? Baron Von Hateshack's Loveshack/Death Mountain Terrordrome. Biological outbreak? Baron Von Hateshack's Loveshack/Death Mountain Terrordrome. Plague of the bloodthirsty walking dead? Baron Von Hateshack's Loveshack/Death Mountain Terrordrome. Assuming that no one goes insane from cabin fever during the interim between the Apocalypse and the time we open the hatches to reclaim the brave new world as our own (after we move the mutants onto reservations), we should have a blissful time living out the world's tribulations in Baron Von Hateshack's Loveshack/Death Mountain Terrordrome and emerge hail and hardy and ready to repopulate the glorious planet of H8SHAK IV (Which history will show has always been the planet's name, once my scribes rewrite the textbooks for the new planet's only school: Our Lady of Hateshack.
So, who's with me? My armies of robots are loyal and competent, but they aren't very good conversationalists, and Coozie Fantastica is kind of a nag sometimes, so I'd like to get a cadre of henchpersons/drinking buddies. We'll discuss uniforms after we get all situated and assuming that ShirtWRX has some sort of mass quantity bargain going on, maybe we can at least get some t-shirts done up with a logo and unified color scheme. It's a start anyway.
