As most of you reading this, probably in the papers or on your digital devices, are aware, I, Baron Baddington, have been ordered to write an apology letter to the public at large as part my so called “rehabilitation”. If forcing contrition seems like a fool’s endeavor to you, then congratulations on having an IQ higher than my wardens. Still, they’ve threatened to take away my cable if I don’t write one, so it seems I’m going to have to muddle through this. Apologizing for every slight and petty crime would take far longer than I am willing to devote to this task, and I suspect a great deal more space than most periodicals would allocate to running it. Instead, I’ll try to take a macro approach and hit the high notes.
I am sorry I blew up a chunk of the moon. To be fair, I did replace it with nearly indistinguishable materials as part of my Moon Base Construction project, so aesthetically there’s really little difference unless you’re the kind of nerd who owns a telescope. And sure, the tides might be a bit wonky now, but you know who owns beachfront property? Rich people. Do you really care if their mansions get a little flood damage? …of course you do, as do I, which is why I’m sorry for the whole exploding chunk of moon issue. I’d also like to take this opportunity to assure you all that, despite public speculation, the area I demolished was nowhere near the historic sight of America’s first landing. I’m a villain, not a commie, and I do take some pride in our shared national history.
I am sorry I temporarily turned the entire world into cats. Look, I’ll level with you, that whole plan was pretty much a bust from go in the first place. The idea was to make everyone into creatures that were easier to train and control, bend your wills to my own, and then turn you back once the conditioning had taken. Cats were a poor choice. If anything, I think I made you all more stubborn and independent. And if my henchmen were any indication, it seems like most of you were dealing with hairballs for at least a few days after the change back. Warden’s orders or not, I truly do apologize for that experience. Having to clean up after a few henchmen was bad enough, I can’t imagine what those of you with large families went through.
I am sorry I took the president hostage. Okay, actually, you know what, if I have to do this then I’m going to give away a trade secret or two. Do you know how hard that man’s job is? Do you have any idea the daily stress and pressure he must function under? The president loves it when we villains swing through for an occasional kidnapping. We’re obviously not going to hurt him, holy shit no villain with enough smarts to actually breach White House security is stupid enough to call down that kind of heat. It’s mostly pageantry. He gets a few days away from the grind, we can negotiate a couple million out of a fund kept specifically to pay us villains off, and when the superheroes swing in to save him everyone gets a feel good moment, even if we villains do generally escape at the end.
I’m sorry I summoned a netherbeast into this dimension and it almost devoured all of existence. Seriously on this one, that was a total fuckup. I was trying to bring over a demon to get some useful magical tools, and… look ancient Flertarian is a hard language. Reading it is a mother fucker, pronouncing it doubly so. So I may have fudged up a few syllables here and there and drawn in the wrong extra-dimensional being. But can we also talk about the fact that I helped to stop it? I mean, this is my world too, I don’t want to be eaten by the gaping maw of nothingness any more than the rest of you. That’s why I quit the cubicle job in the first place. No one mentions that though, they always say that I’m the one who let it in, never adding that my insight and arcane knowledge helped send it back. Whatever, it was my mistake in the first place, so I suppose I have to own that.
I am sorry I turned all bacon into tofu. You know, I’ve taken a lot of high profile hostages through the years, but never has the nation risen up as one to demand my subjugation or appeasement with the same fervor as when I held bacon for ransom. Have to admit, I did not see that level of fury coming. Superhero teams and government task forces were being sent out that very day. It was a little scary, if you want the truth. I didn’t think you all had that kind of unity left in you, but clearly I was wrong. The point is, I overstepped a line, and I apologize for doing so.
I am not sorry that marketed a brand of useful and inexpensive phones that released toxins into the skins of politicians every time they told a lie, giving them furious bouts of diarrhea. Yeah, you didn’t know about that one, did you? They like to keep that hush hush, for obvious reasons. Go hunt down some DC janitors though, they’ll tell you tales you can’t believe. It was, admittedly, not my most refined or high-brow caper, but I feel that as the lawless it is our responsibility to sometimes serve a bit of public good. In my case, every time a politician proved themselves to be full of shit, I simply tried to remove some of it. Is that really such a crime? Based on the duration of my sentence, yes, yes it is.
I am sorry that I gave trees sentience. That part really wasn’t all that hard, they’re further along than most of you suspect. But when I couldn’t get the system for giving them mobility down, the whole project became rather cruel. Making an army of trees: proper villainy at its finest. Giving trees awareness, yet not gifting them with a way to run or fight back when people came to cut them down: now that’s just in poor taste. It still wouldn’t have been so bad, if only they hadn’t figured out how to scream.
Now then, I think that covers the larger events of the past year. But I’ll go ahead and add one in advance: I apologize for the jailbreak. Perhaps having nano-bugs dig through the walls while I kept the guards distracted with writing this silly paper was overkill, although it was fun to reminisce on my more recent accomplishments. I’m going to go ahead and leave this behind, the warden can do with it as he wishes. If nothing else, he cannot say I’m not a man of my word. See you on the outside, future subjects!
From the desk of Baron Baddington, Esquire.
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