Itsa Me

“What a beautiful day to be the antagonist,” he said with a low and sinister chuckle. Before he left the house he glanced into the little mirror he’d hung above the key box and arranged his eyebrows into a V-shape. It took remarkable effort and precise muscular control to hold them like that throughout the entire day, but long years of practice had built his stamina so that now, in the prime of his career, maintaining a villainous smirk came to him as easily as breathing. It was a point of quiet pride that no longer had to enhance the effect with makeup.

Know, then, only that this ghastly creature bore lies the way a crabtree bears fruit in a mast year. Know that his vices were unspeakable, his crimes unpardonable, that the black stain upon his soul could never be washed out. Know that as other men make love, he made hate; and that misery and sorrow were to him as mother’s milk.

To look upon Count von BadMann would be to look upon the very face of evil. Every objectionable quality a man might possess was duly represented in his countenance and figure. He was ugly, as hatred is ugly—or perhaps he was attractive, as sin is attractive. He was disfigured, when disfigurement suggests moral depravity, and unblemished when it suggests virtue. He was thin, or fat, when one represents greed and the other gaiety; he was feeble, or he was sturdy, as a parasite or as a tyrant. He was well-groomed. He was slovenly. He was young and ambitious, and old and miserly; he was marginalized, he was hegemonic; he was lustful-puritanical, driven-slothful, macho-sissy, subtle-overbearing. When he spoke, he purred, or bellowed—and when he walked, he minced, or strode.

Count von BadMann possessed every reprehensible trait known to mankind and then some. To cross paths with him would be to reaffirm every moral conviction you possess, whatever it might be.

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1- actually enjoyed it

2- it's ok I just need something to fill the silence