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"The song lied, Number Two. Find the person responsible and pelt him with tennis rackets," Dr. Evil demanded, shuffling off to his evil bed, while adjusting his evil nightcap.
The cat had not come back the very next day, nor the day after that. In fact, Mr. Bigglesworth had been missing for 72.5 hours, according to Frau's watch. It had to be Frau's watch because Dr. Evil felt wristwatches were confining and Communist, and he didn't care to wear his Mickey Mouse alarm clock around his neck outside of the joint. He felt it sent the wrong message. Time had always been his bitch; there is no time, only Dr. Evil.
Dejected, Dr. Evil climbed into bed and carefully arranged his New Kids on the Block sheets while clutching his Glo-worm. “Where could he be hiding?” Dr. Evil asked himself aloud. There weren't many hairless kitties wandering the streets. The other kitties never let them play their reindeer games.
"Perhaps he got a wig," he mused. "He is all alone. Probably scared. Yeah, scared. I hope he found some peeps. Gets some street cred."
Mini-Me didn't seem to mind Mr. Bigglesworth's absence. When told, he had simply shrugged and mimed cutting off the cat's tail.
At least Dr. Evil assumed it was the cat's tail. Anything else was just gross.
Agitated, Dr. Evil threw the Glo-worm as hard as he could -- it's possible it cleared the end of the bed -- and fumed, "I can not be an evil genius without something to stroke! Honestly. Just look at Napoleon. His prized russian blue choked on a high heel. Really. Napoleon was forced to stroke himself. It's true. Look at all the paintings."
Not surprisingly, the silence didn't respond.
"I am completely inconsolable," Dr. Evil said, sullenly.
Five minutes later, the heartbroken evil doctor reached into his bedside table for his Hello Kitty diary and began to write:
Number Two,
Place this ad in all local newspapers and Seventeen magazine. I need a new kitty.
WANTED -
One vivacious, volatile, villainous and virile evil doctor seeks companion of the feline variety* for stroking, plotting and image purposes. Must enjoy margaritas and getting caught in the rain. Also magma. Lack of fur preferred for hypoallergenic reasons, but will allow for evil tendencies. Interest in world domination and meat helmets a plus. Some risk of liquidation and being menaced by evil clone in 1/8th form, but the experience is really quite exquisite. Go where no cat** has gone before and explore the limits of time, space and Bob's Big Boy. Interested applicants should apply at: evilmojodaddy @ Hotmail.com.org
*Only cats need apply, with the exception of Beazley (Beelzebub?) and Barney (an overgrown eggplant?), due to their previous experience. India? Call me. On the phone. Yeah.
**Except Mr. Bigglesworth, but he was ungrateful.
The cat had not come back the very next day, nor the day after that. In fact, Mr. Bigglesworth had been missing for 72.5 hours, according to Frau's watch. It had to be Frau's watch because Dr. Evil felt wristwatches were confining and Communist, and he didn't care to wear his Mickey Mouse alarm clock around his neck outside of the joint. He felt it sent the wrong message. Time had always been his bitch; there is no time, only Dr. Evil.
Dejected, Dr. Evil climbed into bed and carefully arranged his New Kids on the Block sheets while clutching his Glo-worm. “Where could he be hiding?” Dr. Evil asked himself aloud. There weren't many hairless kitties wandering the streets. The other kitties never let them play their reindeer games.
"Perhaps he got a wig," he mused. "He is all alone. Probably scared. Yeah, scared. I hope he found some peeps. Gets some street cred."
Mini-Me didn't seem to mind Mr. Bigglesworth's absence. When told, he had simply shrugged and mimed cutting off the cat's tail.
At least Dr. Evil assumed it was the cat's tail. Anything else was just gross.
Agitated, Dr. Evil threw the Glo-worm as hard as he could -- it's possible it cleared the end of the bed -- and fumed, "I can not be an evil genius without something to stroke! Honestly. Just look at Napoleon. His prized russian blue choked on a high heel. Really. Napoleon was forced to stroke himself. It's true. Look at all the paintings."
Not surprisingly, the silence didn't respond.
"I am completely inconsolable," Dr. Evil said, sullenly.
Five minutes later, the heartbroken evil doctor reached into his bedside table for his Hello Kitty diary and began to write:
Number Two,
Place this ad in all local newspapers and Seventeen magazine. I need a new kitty.
WANTED -
One vivacious, volatile, villainous and virile evil doctor seeks companion of the feline variety* for stroking, plotting and image purposes. Must enjoy margaritas and getting caught in the rain. Also magma. Lack of fur preferred for hypoallergenic reasons, but will allow for evil tendencies. Interest in world domination and meat helmets a plus. Some risk of liquidation and being menaced by evil clone in 1/8th form, but the experience is really quite exquisite. Go where no cat** has gone before and explore the limits of time, space and Bob's Big Boy. Interested applicants should apply at: evilmojodaddy @ Hotmail.com.org
*Only cats need apply, with the exception of Beazley (Beelzebub?) and Barney (an overgrown eggplant?), due to their previous experience. India? Call me. On the phone. Yeah.
**Except Mr. Bigglesworth, but he was ungrateful.
no subject
To: evilmojodaddy at hotmail.com.org
RE: Human Sought For Wet Food, Megalomania, Stroking
Hello, I am a kitty and I believe we could come to a mutually benemeficial contractual agreement. I enjoy wombats. Wombats with lasers. Do you have a wombat army for me to command?
My qualifications are impeccamable. I have destroyed several couches and one (1) studio apartment in major metropollytan cities. I am an American Domestic Short Hair Kitty, black and white. Or white and black. I am unsure. I enjoy stalking, leaping, and working on my manifesto.
Signed,
Bast