Yet another unnecessarily long monologue by a supervillain as he prepares to kill his nemesis
Here's a little something I published recently on McSweeney's Internet Tendency:
Ah! My arch-nemesis, finally we meet, after all these years. Are your shackles too tight? Keep in mind they have to be somewhat tight, so as not to defeat the purpose, but I don’t want them to be too tight. How do you like my underground cavern lair? Is it too dark? How do you like the blacklights?
I admit I would be lying if I said I am not happy to see you. It has been a pleasure doing combat with you all these many years, in our little game of cat and mouse, often aided by explosives, or flying machines, or houses of mirrors. You have been a most worthy foe. In some ways, I will regret destroying something so extraordinary. In some ways, I will really enjoy it. Killing you will be like destroying a beautiful butterfly. A beautiful butterfly who murdered my father and poured acid on my face.
You may laugh, but we are not so different, you and I. OK, actually, do not laugh. Let me continue, please. Stop it. Guard, show our friend what happens when we laugh too much. That’s right, we lose television privileges. You’re not laughing so much now, are you?
Like I said, we are not so different. We both lost our parents at a young age. We both seek out the darkness and shun the light. We both have secret identities. We both keep secrets, and have lost loved ones because of these secrets.
Oh crap. That’s my phone. Excuse me, I have to take this.
We have both gotten in trouble for keeping secrets with people who think that secrets are rude.
We both are left handed. We both wear eyepatches. We both are aided by vaguely British, elderly manservants who many people erroneously think share a homoerotic relationship with us. Why can’t two men be longtime companions without it being intimated that it is something more than that, I ask you? We both wear our hair short on the sides and back but slightly longer at the front, styled with molding gel. We both went to small, liberal arts colleges in the Midwest, majoring in English. Except that I went to an evil small liberal arts college, and you went to a small liberal arts college that fought for justice.
Can you touch your tongue to your nose? Do it. I can too! I’ve never met anyone else who can do that! Is your family Irish? Oh, you’re Scottish? Close enough. Let me ask you this: were you picked last always in gym class? Oh.
But look: We are wearing the same outfit.
There are some crucial differences, and this is why we fight on two different sides of the law. Obviously, your shoes are nicer than mine are, just because you can go shopping in the city’s finest stores under your unassuming alter ego. Whereas my facial disfigurement keeps me from venturing out in daylight, forcing me to put together clothes from what I find in the gutter. No, it’s okay, really.