...he is weaving the chocolate. Do you copy, this bitch is WEAVING CHOCOLATE

The only way to preserve democracy and protect people's lives is to vote blue, every position, every election, every year, down the ballot

To the self-righteous pricks who supposedly have liberal views and values but refuse to vote:

And those of us who support unfettered access to abortion recognize that it isn’t *our business*, or our governors business, or the presidents business, or our senators business, what those reasons are. Those of us who can become pregnant should be given the respect snd dignity to make those choices without having to get permission from Ted Cruz first.

No prompt this time, just a sequel to ‘Welcome To Evil-Mart’

Working at Evil-Mart is usually… well, it’s retail. It’s physically exhausting, you have to deal with a lot of idiots without being overtly rude, and your feet hurt. Even though the hours and pay are very good, the benefits are great, and our bosses treat us well compared to most retail employees, it’s still not what I’d call a fun job.

But it’s not what I’d call dull, either. Especially not on days like today.

I was promoted to supervisor after the Food Poisoning Incident, so I have a little more authority and a little less obligation to be pleasant and I got issued a weighted cosh because sometimes Evil-Mart customers get… feisty. I’d never had to use it, though, because those who hadn’t seen what I did to Majority Rules, either in person or on one of the cell-phone videos that circulated afterwards, had at least heard about it.  They didn’t give me any trouble.

I was halfway through my shift, and the worst things that’d happened had been running out of croissants and a machine oil spill in Aisle Seven, when our greeter pressed the alarm button, which sent an alert to my handset. As front-end supervisor, that meant me, so I went over. Sam, who is unusual in the henching community for having actually aged out rather than ‘being retired’ jerked his chin in the direction of a tall, swaggering figure. “He just came in,” he whispered.

I did a full double-take before I took it in. Superdyne. Fucking Superdyne.

We’d all heard about his dramatic heel-turn a couple of months ago. The whole world had heard about it. Superdyne, who’d skated closer and closer to the line for years, had decided to cross it in a blaze of bloodshed. He was a villain now, he said. There’d been a whole speech about how ingratitude had driven him to it blah blah blah.

I work at Evil-Mart. I’m from a hench family. If someone becomes a supervillain because they hate Mondays or want to turn us all into dinosaurs or whatever, I don’t judge. I will sell depth-charges and laser guns to anyone who can prove they’re over eighteen without hesitation. But even we get kind of grossed out by the ‘I am forced to turn evil because I haven’t been given enough love’ thing. People who are actually so fucked up by emotional abuse or neglect or some superhero killing their family, we’re fine with them. But they don’t say that’s why they do it, and most of them need a lot of therapy to even realize it. People who actually say that’s why are entitled dickwads.

And now the dickwad had walked into Evil-Mart like he was entitled. Like he thought he was one of us.

See, I work at Evil-Mart. It’s actually a really good job – benefits are top notch, pay is excellent, and management really cares about the wellbeing of employees. For good reason – most of us are, if not family, certainly part of the Family. All the staff are from the families of henchmen and minor villains. It’s easier for everyone that way.

Unfortunately, while the official ‘bad guys’ excel in many areas, catering isn’t one of them.  I don’t know why, but it’s just not something we’re good at. Anyway, there was a big team dinner for Evil-Mart one night, to celebrate the store’s tenth anniversary. And the next day, nearly the whole staff were out with food poisoning. And by nearly the whole staff, I mean … well, it went like this.

I was on the opening shift, and usually when I get there, there’s already two supervisors there. This time… nothing. The door was still locked. I knocked a few times, then called the front desk. Still nothing.

The third time I called, a voice answered that I didn’t recognize. “Who is this?”

“Rebecca Kahn, I – “

She sounded like she was about to cry. “Are you calling in sick too?”

“No, but the door’s locked and I can’t get in.”

“You’re here? At the store?”

“Yes, and I only have two minutes or I’ll be late clocking in and – “

“Wait right there! I’ll be right down!” The phone slammed down, and a couple of minutes the door swung open. “Thank God!” the woman exclaimed. I vaguely recognised her from meetings, but we’d never spoken before, but now she grabbed my hands and squeezed them as if I was a long lost friend. “Did you have a special meal last night?”

At that point, light began to dawn. “Yes. Knuckles Levy from the warehouse and I both had the kosher meal.”

[parachute opens up to reveal it is rainbow]