The Demands of the Villain - pt1> Chocolate Limes

 

“I simply must have a bag of chocolate limes!,” said the evil supervillain. “But how shall I acquire this delightful confection?”

 

The evil supervillain cooked up a dastardly plan. Well first he cooked up some leek and potato soup, to go with a couple of the fresh organic rolls he had just taken out of the oven. He had lunch, whilst watching Sky Landscape Artist of the Year, had a wee, then sat at his desk with a freshly sharpened pencil (he always kept a pot of these, in readiness for just such a moment) and a jotter. He licked the tip of his pencil (for reasons unknown), opened his jotter to a fresh page and wrote at the top of said page...

 

Plan to acquire a bag of chocolate limes

 

“Tea,” he then said, and he made a cup of tea.

 

When he had made the tea and sat back down at his desk, he frantically made notes on the particulars of his dastardly plan. Only stopping to occasionally sup some tea and pop into the kitchen for a biscuit.

 

* * *

 

“Oh Christ,” said the mild (ish) mannered teaching assistant, as the story unfolded on the TV in the staffroom.

 

The evil supervillain was perched atop the BT Tower, in black mask and cape and whatnot, a diabolical grin on his chops and some kind of remote control in his hand. Along the bottom of the screen scrolled the words:

 

Evil supervillain poised to destroy the city...

 

“I could have done without this today,” said the mild mannered teaching assistant, who had year 9 English and Maths this afternoon, which tended to be a tricky couple of hours, so it would certainly be noted as ‘suspicious’ if he claimed a sudden debilitating illness or family emergency which required that he go home immediately. But... tick off his phase leader or allow Birmingham to be vaporised? Oh the responsibilities of a superhero...

 

“If my demands are not met,” said the evil supervillain on the TV, “then I shall press this button and millions will meet their doom!”

 

“Again?,” said the mild mannered teaching assistant, as he rolled his eyes. “Okay then, here goes...”

 

The mild mannered teaching assistant left the staffroom and knocked on the door of the office of Mrs Olsen, who, after a clearly audible sigh, bid him enter.

 

“What is it, Mr White?”

 

“I’m sorry, Mrs Olsen, but a family emergency has come up.”

 

“What is it this time, Mr White?”

 

“My daughter’s guinea pig has got stuck in the dryer vent.”

 

“Your definition of ‘family emergency’ has become somewhat stretched, Mr White.”

 

“She really loves that guinea pig.”

 

“Okay, go. But it’s going on your record.”

 

“Thank you, Mrs Olsen.”

 

The mild mannered teaching assistant left the school, hid behind the nearest Tesco delivery van, changed into his superhero costume, then flew to the top of the BT Tower.

 

“Hahahahaha!,” boomed the evil supervillain. “I knew you would come!”

 

“Whadya want?,” said the superhero.

 

“Pardon?”

 

“What do you want?”

 

“A bag of chocolate limes.”

 

“Here you go.”

 

“Oh thanks.”

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

“Where d’you get them from?”

 

“The Morrisons up the road.”

 

“I didn’t think to look there.”

 

“(Typical.)”

 

“Pardon?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

The evil supervillain whooshed down from the BT Tower, followed by the superhero.

 

“Can I have the remote control then?,” said the superhero.

 

“I might still need it.”

 

“Fair enough.”

 

“Until next time!,” boomed the evil supervillain.

 

“Not right in my lughole.”

 

“Sorry.”

 

< fin >