The Evil Mean Dr. Charlie

CHAPTER ONE

The evil, cold-hearted, diabolical, sinister, just plain mean Dr. Charlie sat in his chair, contemplating what to do. His trusted advisor, the evil, cold-hearted, diabolical, but slightly less sinister Mr. Steven had just brought him bad news: Dr. Charlie’s evil legion of lunatics, fanatical murderous fiends, muggers, ex-military foreign-people killing machines, and a few (thousand) robotic meanies were being slaughtered by the young, valiant Mr. Jimmy and his company of merry men, armed each of them to the T with sticks, stones, and animal bones.

Things were thus not looking good for the evil, mean Dr. Charlie. His plan for world domination was not going to plan; in fact it was failing. Quite miserably, I might add. With the flick of his wrist and the press of a button located inside the arm of his super high-tech evil chair of doom, the evil, mean Dr. Charlie made all of his robotic meanies self-destruct and kill pretty much everyone on the field of battle.

The evil, mean Dr. Charlie cared not that he lost all of his men. According to the word of his trusted advisor, the less sinister Mr. Steven, his men all sucked, and were indeed expendable. He was probably doing them a favor by killing them all. And upon the return of his on-the-field cruel, heartless journalist, the evil, mean Dr. Charlie could watch all of the death in slow motion, filling his evil, mean heart with gladness and happiness and glee and things like that.

Oh. He was dead too. So perhaps he would not watch the death in slow motion and have his heart filled with said gladness and happiness and glee and things like that. Oh, well.

“Thank you, less sinister Mr. Steven,” said mean, evil Dr. Charlie to the less sinister Mr. Steven, “for your valuable information. Would you be a less sinister dear and get some random henchmen out there to clean up the mess of people-juice? That would be greatly appreciated.”

“Of course, evil, mean Dr. Charlie,” came the reply. The less sinister Mr. Steven realized that any other reply would have gotten his less sinister head severed with a paring knife and tweezers. So the less sinister Mr. Steven rounded a group of some remaining random henchmen to clean up the mess of people-juice and returned forty-two hours later with more bad news.

“I understand not how he escaped it, sir, but somehow the young, valiant Mr. Jimmy escaped the blast of metal and was not included in the body count, for his body did not appear to be anywhere in the general vicinity of the rest of the bodies, and that’s quite a bit of land area,” said the less sinister Mr. Steven in a hurried gasp of please-don’t-kill-me-I’ve-been-a-good-boy whining.

“Indeed, I did not expect for the young, valiant Mr. Jimmy to die. He is a very difficult person to kill, and I would know, seeing as how I have been trying for a very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very long time,” replied the evil, mean Dr. Charlie.

“So, are you going to kill me, sir?” asked the paranoid but slightly less sinister Mr. Steven.

“Of course not. Unless of course you wish to die by one of my magnificent methods of murder, following some brutal torture and extreme pain in the room approximately twenty-three point seven paces to your right. Or I could press this little blue button on my chastity belt that I wear for some reason and have the floor open from underneath your feet, thus causing the effect of gravity (which is nine point eight meters per second squared) to make you fall twenty feet into a glass container filled with starving piranha, electric eels, and women who used to work out watching Richard Simmons. Or perhaps if you prefer I could simply beat you repeatedly with a pineapple.”

“I would prefer neither of those, sir, thank you. I would prefer at this time not to die.”

“Very well. But that pineapple idea was quite fun. Would you be a dear and fetch me a random henchmen so that I can try this idea?”

“Of course, superior sir.” With that, he turned around, and—

“Also bring me a pineapple.”

“Yes, sir.”

--fetched an evil, mean henchman and an innocent, luscious pineapple.

CHAPTER TWO

As the evil, mean Dr. Charlie was beating, smacking, hitting, slapping, and repeatedly rearranging the face of the random evil, mean henchman (whose name does not matter because he is a random henchman), the young, valiant Mr. Jimmy was trying to recruit new merry men, because of course, all of his other merry men died as he was relieving himself on the wall of the evil, mean Dr. Charlie’s fortress.

They also were no longer very merry.

“Would you, O brave, young, valiant farm-boys of this random village that is apparently being screwed over by the plans of the evil, mean Dr. Charlie, be willing to fight with me against this horrible evil, mean foe?” he preached from the center of the random village that was apparently being screwed over by the plans of the evil, mean Dr. Charlie.

It seemed that no brave, young, valiant farm-boys of said random village were willing to do as he was asking. In fact, some of them stopped and said something along the lines of, “With all due respect, sir, screw you.” However, the young, valiant Mr. Jimmy did recruit two men from said random village that was apparently being screwed over by the plans of the evil, mean Dr. Charlie. The first he called Boulder and the other he called String Bean. Boulder was a rather obese fellow, whose sheer weight would make a great wrecking ball for the fortress of the evil, mean Dr. Charlie. Especially after the foundations have been weakened by the application of the young, valiant Mr. Jimmy’s urine. String Bean, on the other hand, was very scrawny and would make excellent target practice for training for the future recruits of other random villages that were apparently being screwed over by the plans of the evil, mean Dr. Charlie.

The two young, valiant lads (and their new target) marched bravely to the next random village that was apparently being screwed over by the plans of the evil, mean Dr. Charlie. There, they met no new recruits, but they lost their target. A four-year-old small child was riding a twenty-year-old small tricycle and ran over String Bean, popping his skinny little head off of his skinny little shoulders, causing it to fly like a bullet across the street into a large woman’s grocery bag. The large woman gasped, fainted, and the young, valiant lads got free food (albeit covered in pureed String Bean juice).

Meanwhile, the evil, mean Dr. Charlie, as mentioned, earlier, was enjoying himself, still beating the bloody face of the evil, mean random henchman with the pineapple. Were he fifty years younger, he would look like a small child at Christmas. Never had he been so happy since taking the whole world-domination job.

At this same time, some people in Israel pissed off some people in Palestine and were blown up on a bus. But that has absolutely nothing to do with this story.

The evil, mean Dr. Charlie suddenly sighed with disappointment as the evil, mean random henchman finally died and fell to the ground. Part of him (approximately twenty-five percent of him) wanted to summon his trusted advisor, the less sinister Mr. Steven, and order him to fetch a less bloody pineapple as well as a less bloody random henchman, but seventy percent of him knew that even in a story with this kind of insanity in it his resources could be limited, lest the readers accuse (and rightfully so) the author of indulging far too much in such horrible acts of random bloody violence. The other five percent of him didn’t care one way or the other.

Instead, the evil, mean Dr. Charlie summoned via speed-dial (interestingly enough, also located on his chastity belt) his dastardly physicist, the intelligent and dastardly Mr. Aaron. Mr. Aaron materialized in front of the evil, mean Dr. Charlie, because this invention he had made almost twenty years ago was a far easier and faster method of transportation than any other. Ever. It was similar to (in fact, an exact replica except it used four more LEDs) the people-beamers Scotty used in Star Trek.

“You wanted to see me, evil, mean Mr. Charlie?”

“Yes, indeed, intelligent and dastardly Mr. Aaron. I wish for you to make me a time machine.”

“Of course. But you realize that time is a very important thing and you can screw up the entire world without even trying, do you not?”
“Do not sass me, intelligent and dastardly Mr. Aaron.”

“I apologize, superior sir. I was not trying to sass you. I’m just saying that you can really screw up the world if you so much as step the wrong way on a blade of grass. You could cause the ultimate destruction of all mankind by giving Momma Cass the Heimlich maneuver.”
“That was the general idea, intelligent and dastardly Mr. Aaron.”

“Oh. Okay then.”

“Yes.”

“I will go to Japan and buy you a cell phone. They now come fully equipped with their own planets, armies, time machines, and cutesy pictures of Doraemon.”

“That would work quite nicely. Perhaps in the past I can do away with Doraemon.”

“I certainly hope so.”

“Now get out of my office and get me a time machine or I will have you castrated with a bobby pin on your birthday by Mike Tyson while being repeatedly spanked by Richard Simmons as Barbra Streisand sings to you.”

The intelligent and dastardly Mr. Aaron returned two minutes later with a cell phone fully equipped with its own planet, army, time machine, and cutesy pictures of Doraemon.

CHAPTER THREE

The evil, mean Dr. Charlie did not like Doraemon, so he summoned his trusted advisor, the less sinister Mr. Steven, to fetch a large Doraemon suit and a random henchman. This time, said the evil, mean Dr. Charlie, there were to be no pineapples involved in any way, shape, or form.

And it came to pass that the less sinister Mr. Steven fetched a large Doraemon suit and a random henchman. The less sinister Mr. Steven also made it a point not to fetch pineapples, because there were to be no pineapples involved in any way, shape, or form.

The random henchman asked the less sinister Mr. Steven if he was going to die.

“Most likely, Mr. random henchman, sir,” replied the less sinister Mr. Steven.

“Oh. That sucks.”

“Indeed.”

“Can I at least say goodbye to my wife and children, superior sir?”

“I doubt it. But I can call and ask. Give me a second, Mr. random henchman.”

So the less sinister Mr. Steven reached into his pocket of terror, and retrieved—I mean, fetched—a cellular communications device in the shape and form of a small gun. Except it was a real gun, and he shot the random henchman. Thus, the random henchman was dead and did not get to say goodbye to his wife and children. And the less sinister Mr. Steven had to fetch another random henchman to wear this obese Doraemon suit.

Two minutes after the first random henchman was shot and killed by the less sinister Mr. Steven, another random henchman was brought before the evil, mean Dr. Charlie. He was ordered to wear the obese Doraemon suit, and obeyed, lest he be tortured in the room approximately twenty-three point seven paces to his right. Then the evil, mean Dr. Charlie put on some boxing gloves and—

“Hold it right there, evil, mean Dr. Charlie!” came a voice from across the lobby of death in the lair of the evil, mean Dr. Charlie.

—as I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted, the evil, mean Dr. Charlie put on some boxing gloves and prepared to beat the living poop sticks out of the random henchman wearing the Doraemon suit.

Continue, voice from across the lobby of death in the lair of the evil, mean Dr. Charlie.

……

Okay, I said you can continue.

“Thank you, Author sir. Sorry for interrupting.”

That’s quite all right.

“Where was I? Oh, yes. Hold it right there, evil, mean Dr. Charlie!” came a voice from across the lobby of death in the lair of the evil, mean Dr. Charlie.

The random henchman in the obese Doraemon suit looked in the general vicinity of the voice from across the lobby of death in the lair of the evil, mean Dr. Charlie. This means he looked across the lobby of death in the lair of the evil, mean Dr. Charlie. He felt a rush of relief when he saw it was the young, valiant Mr. Jimmy and his group of loyal merry men, three of which were suicidal and had nothing better to do, two of which had the approximate mental capacity of a rice ball covered in melted cheese (which sounds quite delicious), and one of which he dubbed Boulder, that has yet to have said anything in the entire story.

“Hi,” said Boulder.

The evil, mean Dr. Charlie shot the random henchman in the obese Doraemon suit. So much for the rush of relief of the random henchman, for the shot caused his life to cease. For the scholars out there, this means he died as a result of being shot by the evil, mean Dr. Charlie. He’s now dead and there’s absolutely nothing anyone can do about it, except if the evil, mean Dr. Charlie wanted to, he could do something about it in a few minutes but he did not want to so he did not do anything about it because he was pleased that the random henchman was now dead. So eat that. Forty-three years on this planet to be killed wearing a Doraemon suit. Had the evil, mean Dr. Charlie not killed him, I calculate (and I know this because I am the author and I have supreme power over this awesome story) that in approximately three days, two hours, twenty-seven minutes and sixteen point three seconds, the random henchman would have killed himself.

So he’s dead. Moving along.

The evil, mean Dr. Charlie, instead of retaliating with a stupid one-liner, like “We meet again, young, valiant Mr. Jimmy, except this time you are on my turf,” said nothing and pressed a button (this time it was not on his chastity belt) inside the arm of his chair of doom that summoned to the lobby of death in the lair of the evil, mean Dr. Charlie all of the random henchmen on the premises. For the sake of the story, there are….. let’s say, there are about thirty. Yeah, thirty sounds nice to me.

Then the evil, mean Dr. Charlie punched in (using his boxing gloves) 1776 on his Japanese cellular phone and warped to that year back in time. Now the evil, mean Dr. Charlie was the first person to sign the Declaration of Independence. He also invented the CD player, the computer, motion pictures, the Internet (it was NOT Al Gore), spray-on deodorant, indoor plumbing, the atomic bomb (which is very fun to put in a toilet and then flush—try it some day) and the graphing calculator. Then he burned the Declaration of Independence, took over the United States of America, made everyone in the U.S.A. kill everyone else after he invented cannons and tanks and whatnot, and owned the world.

“Oh. Well, then, I suppose you will not have any orange sherbet, my dear merry men. It appears as though it has been disinvented because the evil mean Dr. Charlie has killed the original inventor of it before it was invented by the original inventor.” said the young, valiant Mr. Jimmy.

Then the evil mean Dr. Charlie invented orange sherbet. But the merry men didn’t know so they got pissed off and started beating each other over the heads with their shoes.

“Anyone whose ancestors are German?” asked the less sinister Mr. Steven.

“Mine,” said the young, valiant Mr. Jimmy.

“Ah. Well, you Nazi bastard, he said he is going after the Germans first in his campaign of people-killing.”

“I am screwed then.”

“Yes. Can I have your money and stuff?”

“Yeah, sure.”

And then everyone died and the evil, mean Dr. Charlie screwed up everything for everyone. And one dead guy had the other dead guy’s money and stuff.

FIN

…whoa, that was fun. :-P

Retrospective Archaeology - The Food God

RELIGIONS OF THE WORLD

Fast Foodism

Deities

The Food God

The Food God is known as Ronald McDonald. At many of thehouses of worship, which are now available the whole worldover, it is possible to actually see, feel, and pay homage tostatues of the Food God, whose iconography is a clown withattendants such as the Hamburglar and the purple puffycharacter, among others. Sometimes, a devotee dressed asthe Food God will appear to give children a show outside thelocations of these houses of worship.

The Big Mac

The Big Mac awaits devotees on the other side of the GoldenArches. It is believed that he sent Ronald McDonald to RayKroc in order to teach him how to bring the people of theworld convenient, cheap, awful food.

The Burger King

Antithesis of the Food God, the Burger King attempts to stealdevotees. When one dies and has dishonored the Food God, itis believed that his or her soul is flame-broiled for alleternity alongside angus beef.

The Dairy Queen

The Dairy Queen and the Burger King had a thing for a while,but the Dairy Queen decided to upscale her sandwiches andshy away from the convenience, speed, and general awfulnessof the quality of the food. Also she sells shakes. As she is in amarket for different kinds of souls, neither the Burger Kingnor the Food God really give a rat's ass what she's up to thesedays.

Teachings

The Prophet Founder of this religion is known as Ray Kroc,who transferred messages from the Food God in the form ofvalue, speed, convenience, and calories to the public at largevia a fast-food restaurant chain, McDonald's. The prefix“ Mc-,” though Irish in origin, meaning “Descendant of,” nowcarries with it a lilt of holiness when describing food. Onlywhen “chicken sandwich” becomes “McChicken sandwich” canit be added to the Dollar Menu. This is not to suggest thatwhen one eats a McChicken sandwich that he or she is eating adescendant of the chicken in a sandwich, but chances are, thatpatty's made from more than and less than chicken, all at thesame time. Like I said, it's holy, and holy things getcomplicated. McNuggets, in fact, are so holy that no oneknows where the hell they came from.The Food God has an enemy, known as the Burger King. TheBurger King attempts to take away devotees to the Food Godby offering the devotee that he or she can “have it [his orher] way.”

Traditionally, if one honors the Food God throughout his orher life, after his or her death via heart attack, he or she willpass through the Golden Arches to sit at the right hand of theBig Mac for all eternity. If the Food God has been offended, heor she will be flame-broiled alongside angus beef on the grillof the Burger King forever.

For more information on Fast Foodism, including informationabout such deities as Sonic and Hardee, ...I dunno. Google it orsomething. I totally made all this stuff up, but in a fewthousand years from now when people dig up a statue, they'retotally going to think exactly what I wrote here.