Monday, June 06, 2005


You diabolical son of a bitch.

I thought I’d dealt with you for the last time back in ’72. Dar es Salaam. I left you buried under 15 tons of sand and the winds of time.

Yet, somehow, you managed to escape and install yourself as Pope. Congratulations. This round goes to you.

But our battle is far from over.

I know you’re in league with Robot Frankenstein. And I also know you’ve been secretly siphoning Ytterbium for your own devious purposes. A wary world may look upon you as the figurehead for forces of good. But I know better.

I know you were genetically altered during your involuntarily stint in the Nazi Youth and your demonic masters were waiting for just the right moment to unleash their hellish plan upon an unsuspecting and frail humanity. It would appear that time has finally come.

You scoundrel! I won’t let you trample roughshod over what I love and respect on this earth. Mainly my vast personal wealth and my own stores of Ytterbium.


The time has come for our final showdown. You won’t know the time nor the place. Just know this: it’s coming.

And this time it will take more than your dwarvish Ubersoldats to stop me.


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