Screw The Career Advisors! I Wannabe A Bond Villain!
I have seen the face of hell. It is a middle-aged school careers advisor in an itchy cardigan and bifocals with a dick-stomping case of B.O and a rash. The kind of person who’s allergic to everything other than their own smug sense of superiority. The kind of idealistic bastard who dreams of nothing but ironing creases into their jeans and organizing their clothing catalogues into alphabetical order. The kind of soul-less, barren human train-wreck that wears sandals with socks. That breed of insufferable cretin who stoops to such lows as using words like “guesstimate” in casual conversation without fear of having their jugular torn out by the teeth of an angry passer-by. You have all encountered someone like this. Every school has one. And painful are the memories of that one horrifying day when it was your turn to be summoned to their dank and dungeon-like lair.
It’s their job to guide you on a career path, to make something of you, to make a useful little citizen out of the pimply, hungover wreckage that stands before them. It is their job to help you get that first job – your foot on the bottom rung of the career ladder. And if you have ever encountered one of these slimy-looking cave goblins, I have the following words of condolence for you:
MAY GOD HAVE MERCY ON YOUR SOUL.
I remember when I was in high school and that dreaded time of year came about where they ask you what you want to be when you grow up. The trip to the careers councilor was held with the same tearful esteem as a trip to the firing squad, as scores of children all marched in fear of those haunting words: “What job best defines you as a person?”
This is an unusual thing to ask, seeing as how at that age you know approximately fuck all about anything. Teenagers are too busy thinking about boobs, booze and drugs to concentrate on anything like that, let alone form some kind of coherent answer. Besides, it’s all a bunch of crap anyway. “What do you want to do when you leave school” they ask, and seem genuinely shocked when you say “anal sex, internet porn and mushrooms.” It’s not as if anyone in their right mind ever dreams of working in a God-damn Burger King is it?
What the hell are these people expecting anyway? They should learn to fear anyone who actually says something like “data analyst for a multinational corporation.” Those people have given up on life already. Anyone who gets hard at the mention of “semi-indexed spreadsheet manipulation” needs a charitable gunshot to the face.
So you can imagine my sheer apathy as I stood before this strange and disgusting little creature that demanded to know the plans of my future. “What do you want to be when you grow up?” So I decided to be honest. “A Bond Villain” I said. It was all downhill from there.
Ever since that dreaded day I’ve been determined not to let mothball-smelling shills like that hold me back from my dream. Even now as the beer-fuelled, ridiculously anti-social 23 year old website writer that cowers before you, I still dream of one day holding the world hostage. Ah, to be part of such a time-honoured and noble profession. Let the other kids have their fantasies of becoming fire fighters, sheriffs, astronauts or movie stars. I want to be a Bond Villain.
I WANT MY OWN MOVING LASERBEAM TABLE, GOD-DAMMIT AND I WANT IT NOW!
I’ve thought about this at great lengths. While Bond Villains will always be the favourite, there’s a whole range of Devious Megalomaniacs to choose from. So many hilariously inept bad guys to choose from. You see, there’s more to being an Evil Villain than meets the eye. There’s more to this caper than simply throwing on a cape, hiring a Doomsday Device and demanding the missile keys. There’s an art to this. An art that begins with knowing which of the many Movie Villain stereotypes best fits your own unique style and personality.
On the off-chance there’s anyone else reading this that also shares childhood dreams of Nuclear Invasion and Sinister World Domination, I’ve compiled a list of the different Evil Mastermind clichés for you to choose from, and each month will unveil a few more of these to you as my never-ending search continues. However, for the first batch we have…
The Shifty WW2 Style General
The most quintessential of evil bad guys is the Evil Army General. The best of these were probably from the old WW2 films in which evil Nazi generals would often be seen relaxing in luxury mountain castles, sitting back in big leather chairs while smoking massive Cuban cigars. Their roles were usually limited to two kinds:
* The Angered Harbinger Of Doom: These guys were the worst – their only reason for existence being to yell at the inept troops who let Gallant Hero escape from their ruthless clutches. Harbinger would then leap to his feet, go red in the face and yell a highly entertaining stream of random ACHTUNG!s, NEIN!s, SCHEIZER!s and (when things truly were at their worst) SCHNITZEL! This deranged villain would then either storm out of the room in a fit of anger, damn the soldier’s incompetence, or beat the worthless underlings to death with his shoe – basically whatever takes his fancy at the time.
* The Rubber Stamp Man: The flipside is the inherently calm Sinister Mastermind. A more hospitable creature, these can often be seen sat infront of a large open fireplace, possibly nursing a glass of port or sherry while musing over what best way to set fire to The French. Suddenly there will be a knock at the door. An un-named motorcycle messenger in a ridiculously tight, homo-erotic leather outfit will storm in, handing our RSM a sheet of paper. Glancing at the document for a second, RSM will then utter the famous words “Find Him! And Kill Him!” before going back to whatever he was dreaming about (probably throwing pissed-off lions into a pit full of captured Belgians.)
While the majority of Evil Army General Bad Guy people fall into one of the categories above, there’s a variety of sub-categories for you to also choose from. These include:
* The hilariously psychotic fucktard. These are the best. Seemingly calm on the outside, they are prone to sudden bouts of temper. In an anxious attempt to show character depth they often strive to find new ways to prove what evil, psycho motherfuckers they are by shooting any fellow soldiers that displease them. “Sir! We regret to inform you the prisoners have escaped.” “What?” BANG! FUCK! I’M DEAD!
* The butch yet randomly obese general who always seems to be getting measured for a new uniform. Despite the fact he’s constantly being attacked with bits of tape measure by nameless minions, he still manages to look evil despite parading about in just a vest and underpants. It is never explained, however, why these guys always refuse to remove their gloves.
* The drunken, laid back guy who somehow still has a job. Constantly leaning on things, this slightly intoxicated stereotype always seems to have forgotten his hat. No-one can explain why, but for some reason his uniform is a slightly different shade to everyone else’s. Oh, and he can never be bothered to salute properly either. While the other generals were up late plotting evil schemes for tyrannical invasion, he was in bed all night eating a whore’s ass. He’s too drunk to give a shit, and we love him for it.
* The strangely pervy looking general with the speech impediment. Always with an eye for the boys, this contemptible baddie can often be seen wearing fabulous knee high racing boots just because they make him feel like a REAL man. Always one to carry a horse-whip with him at all times, he dishes out his own brand of punishment to generic underlings who fail to do his bidding. For some reason these guys are constantly dabbing their lips with a tissue.
* The Luftwaffe dog enthusiast. Perhaps the rarest of all the generals, this one is the guy who always has at least one highly trained hound with him at all times, despite the fact that it shits on the carpet whenever the hell it pleases. Years of shooting down lesser mortals in his funky red aeroplane have earned him the right to wear a ridiculous monocle and a hilariously fake scar. He enjoys nothing more than furiously taking off his gloves.
* The civilized thespian with a hard-on for The British. Probably educated at Eton and Oxford, this is a cultural, refined megalomaniac. Sure, he may have spent his week setting fire to children and murdering setting fire to the poor, but he does so with style, dammit! Always knowledgeable in the finest wines, this cliché can often be seen listening to classical music. With their eyes shut. For some unknown reason these guys always share a kinship with their Dashing English Good-guy Counterpart, and often begin their pointless, inane monologues with that legendary ol’ chestnut “We are not so different, you and I…”