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If I had known how difficult it would be to make a death ray from scratch, I definitely would have ordered one over the internet instead. Sure, it would have lacked the personal touch, but when your third titanium centrifuge implodes in so many days, short cuts become very attractive.
Part of the problem, of course, is that from the get go I've had design disagreements with my co-conspirator, the dangerous yet lovely yet homespun Ms. X. She wants to use nuclear powered laser beams, I want to use atomic powered laser beams. Her computers run Windows, mine run Windows Me. You get the picture.
The other major frustration has been with our purchased subcomponents, the manufactor's specifications for which lie like Ann Coulter during a young Republican gang-bang. Don't think we don't know where you live, Acme. You'll get yours.
I'd give it all up, too, if it wouldn't crush the dreams and aspirations of young evil mad scientists everywhere. I'm on the record that it is the bodies and not the hopes of the young that we need to crush.
If only my strong aesthetic sense didn't infect my every whim. But then if it didn't, they wouldn't call me the tyrant of turtlenecks, the dictator of the demonstronsably bad, the three quarters mad Dr. Malisto, Esquire.
Bwah ha ha ha, y'all.
(This research was partially funded by NSF grant #9981217).
Part of the problem, of course, is that from the get go I've had design disagreements with my co-conspirator, the dangerous yet lovely yet homespun Ms. X. She wants to use nuclear powered laser beams, I want to use atomic powered laser beams. Her computers run Windows, mine run Windows Me. You get the picture.
The other major frustration has been with our purchased subcomponents, the manufactor's specifications for which lie like Ann Coulter during a young Republican gang-bang. Don't think we don't know where you live, Acme. You'll get yours.
I'd give it all up, too, if it wouldn't crush the dreams and aspirations of young evil mad scientists everywhere. I'm on the record that it is the bodies and not the hopes of the young that we need to crush.
If only my strong aesthetic sense didn't infect my every whim. But then if it didn't, they wouldn't call me the tyrant of turtlenecks, the dictator of the demonstronsably bad, the three quarters mad Dr. Malisto, Esquire.
Bwah ha ha ha, y'all.
(This research was partially funded by NSF grant #9981217).
