Hey everyone!  Guess who got dumped yesterday!  No, not Dick Cheney.  Nope, nope, not Batman either.  No, not Chewbacca either; to my knowledge he remains happily married to Mrs. Francine Bacca.  Give up then?  It was me!  Yes, yet again, a woman with whom I was in love decided that a life of unremitting solitude was preferable to one in which I played a part, and as a natural consequence, I am once more single.  What then is to be done?  I could always get all emoed out, write free verse poems about spirals of darkness and the depressingly high cost of eye liner, and go out to Hot Topic to buy a pair of black pants composed entirely of zippers, but you know, that’s just not really my style.  Or I could become one of those bitter, lovelorn souls who hate all women and decide to take their revenge by being a total loser and spending every night of their natural life sitting around in their underwear, watching Babylon 5, and eating Cheez Whiz out of the jar.  But I’ve never really enjoyed Cheez Whiz nearly enough to embark upon such a plan.

            What then, does a fellow have left to do, when he finds himself adrift in the world in such a fashion, after he’s packed up all the things that remind him of someone and replaced all the “Woot, I’m in love!” songs on his iPod with Bjork?  The answer, as I’m sure you will have already guessed, is for me to turn to a life of supervillainy.  I know, I know, you’re probably thinking, “But Ben, you’ve promised you were going to do this sort of thing before, but you’re no sooner back from Lowe’s with the parts to your death ray when a shiny object distracts you and you once more take leave of your nefarious schemes!”  My friends, this time it shall be different.  Already I have begun drafting plans to make my van into a helicopter with a totally sweet shark face painted on it.  At this very moment I’m researching dental appliances that will allow my dog to bite through steel girders.  I’ve even made a reservation for tomorrow night with a voice coach to work on my maniacal laughter.  Clearly with plans like these, an army of goons with face-concealing helmets and a secret lair beneath Mount Rushmore cannot be far behind (I know volcanoes are more traditional, but I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised when you see a ballistic missile shoot out of George Washington’s left nostril).

            I realize, of course, that getting into the burgeoning field of supervillianation just because of a bad breakup can lead to bad things.  Darkseid for instance, has based his entire reign of terror on getting Wonder Woman to be his wife (she of course, values him as a friend, but simply doesn’t feel ready for the commitment right now).  However, and I know that it’s always risky to go with what’s fashionable at the moment, I’ve decided to go with more of the Lex Luthor model, in which while you most certainly are a big hit with the ladies, romantic woes and tribulations never get in the way of you deciding to raise an America-eating continent from the depths of the Atlantic (no worries though for my readers here in the States, should I ever find that my career path is leading me in a sunken continent-raising sort of a direction, I promise to raise mine way out in the middle of the Pacific, or possibly next door to France).

            Really, I think that what keeps a lot of us unlucky in love types out of the field of global domination is the idea that it takes a lot of work and startup capital.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  In fact, all you really need is a close encounter with a radioactive meteorite or a magical alien artifact of unimaginable power, or barring that, to be bald and always wearing white linen suits.  For instance, if Captain Picard and Mark Twain ever joined forces, they could easily be the greatest supervillain ever.  So anyway, I’m going to go out hiking in the mountains a bit alter this month and maybe hit up all the local mystical antique shops, and if nothing turns up, then it’s simply time to shave my head and make a trip to the Big & Tall.

            So, if any of you out there feel like auditioning for jobs and henchmen (and these are the top drawer kind, by the way, where you get to have like, an afro and a katana made out of fire) feel free to send me a resume, and if all the rest of you could possibly see your way to collectively trembling in fear at the very idea of me ruling the world, I would be ever so obliged.