The Evil Overlord
“Bwahahaaaaa.” – The Evil Overlord was practicing his evil cackling laugh when he took a real good look at himself in the full-length mirror. A masked fiend stared back at him, in red spandex, no less, complete with a ghastly mask with an eerie smile painted on it.
Why didn’t he notice this before? “I look like a deranged duck!” Without the beak.
His hunch-backed minion, a brown robe-wearing, oversized dwarf named Igor, stuck his head around the ornate, skull-encrusted door, and shuffled in. “Master?”
“Why am I wearing this hideous outfit?”
Igor sighed. His master was at it again. The man was ridiculously insecure about his villainy despite having blown up four planets and a taco chain.
He said indulgently, “Because you’re the villain, Master. You couldn’t go around wearing plaid now, could you?”
The Evil Overlord glared at him, his glowing red eyes, achieved by specially commissioned contact lenses, seemed to bore straight into his minion. Igor ducked quickly, knowing that this was not a prop.
“I’m not talking about that, you nitwit! Why am I wearing a costume at all?”
“I don’t understand, Master,” said his mystified assistant.
“I don’t have a secret identity. I’m a villain 24×7, am I not?”
Glad he had the answer to at least one question, Igor tried to stand straighter, which is really hard when you’re hunched over like a squirrel. He said with confidence, “Oh yes, sir! And proud of it. No one could accuse you of being lazy.”
“Then why am I wearing this silly costume?”
Studying himself in the mirror again, turning this way and that to see all the angles, the Evil Overlord said, “Don’t you think this makes me look…fat?”
There were choking sounds as Igor tried to keep a straight face. He knew this was a trick question and an honest answer would mean a week in the dungeons. “Nooo, Master. Actually I thought you’ve lost some weight.”
The Evil Overlord eyed him suspiciously but decided he didn’t really want an honest answer. “Well, I think it’s time for a change.”
Breathing a sigh of relief, especially since he’d been using the dungeons to grow zucchini, Igor said, “Anything you say, sir.”
Cupboards were flung open and drawers pulled out as the Evil Overlord searched for alternate attire. Clothing went flying everywhere. He mumbled, “Why do I even have all these clothes if I never wear them?”
“That’s a good question, Master,” said Igor as a pair of bright red leather trousers sailed over his head. He was not relishing the hours he would have to spend cleaning up this mess.
The Evil man finally found an outfit that fit his current mood and put it on. He looked at himself in the mirror again. “Well? What do you think?” he asked his assistant.
There was a pained expression on Igor’s face. “You’re wearing plaid, sir. And a bowtie.”
“Bowties are cool.”
Igor covered his face with his hands and shook his head. “You can’t wear that in public, sir.”
Directing a glowing evil glare at him, the Evil Overlord’s voice boomed, “AND WHY NOT? I’M EVIL, I CAN DO ANYTHING!”
“Because no one would know who you were. And do you really want the other Evil Overlords to laugh at you?”
“They wouldn’t dare!” The Evil Overlord pounded on the desk, smashing the wooden surface, sending splinters flying everywhere. Igor ducked behind a couch as his Master bellowed, “I’ll show them all! Come, Igor!”
The hunch-backed minion sighed and followed him out, wondering what dastardly plans his Master had in store that would make plaid suitable wear for supervillains everywhere.