Yes, I haven’t actually been putting out one article a day. There are also some gaps in the sequence from days I posted “Will Dylan Eat It?” pieces or reviews. Deal with it. Considering that in less than a month we’ve posted 26 articles, I’m damned proud.
As I noted in my review of Superman: Doomsday, there are certain mistakes that would-be conquerors of the world often make. (Apparently, there are also some people misguided enough to actually like that movie. That’s their right, because sadly in America they’re still allowed to be wrong. This will change once the Chef is in charge, mark my words.) Among those is putting a bomb or poison capsule or something else nasty inside your minions’ heads in an attempt to control them. It never, ever works, because they always figure out a way to disable it. Then, when you push the button on your remote or gigantic oversized 1960s computer terminal, nothing happens and you just end up looking like a complete idiot.
Another mistake is wasting lots of money on genetically engineering armies of minions. When I set out to conquer the world, Iâ€™m not going to bother with the hassles of genetic engineering. My army will instead be made up of humanzees, which have all of the advantages of genetic hybrids, but without the expense. Instead of countless man-hours and lab costs, you just lock a human and a chimp in a room with a bottle of cheap champagne, put on some Barry White, and let nature take its course. You get a perfectly serviceable minion with a much lower investment. Iâ€™m sure there are thousands of poor mothers pumping out children for the welfare checks whoâ€™d be glad to take a job breeding half-chimpanzee kids for my army of evil.
Granted, if you follow semi-official nomenclature for hybrid species, this hypothetical army would be technically chumans, but â€œhumanzeeâ€? sounds much, much cooler. And if the humanzees turn out to be cute enough, I could probably make money on the side marketing plush toys of them. The name alone would sell them.
Of course, then I’d run into the usual problem of an army of specially-bred superbeings deciding that they’re superior to their plain human master (at least, plain human until technology reaches the point that I can have an immortal robot body – Praise Capitalism!), turning on me, and possibly using me for breeding stock and/or food. I still haven’t figured out how to get around that one yet.