Easter Eggs Abound

You know what I despise?
Aside from that.
We all know that I don't like humans.

No, do you know what I despise?
What really gets my goat?

Charlatans.

Yep, charlatans.

Oblivion take you, Danno!

Now, I wanted to share some serious advances in Villainy, not this pathetic META-BULLSHIT you've been spewing.
Oh, creation is great. Whee!
But it's still bullshit.
No real content of your own, just more of someone else's.

What's the matter hot-dog?
Not feeling the META-MAGIC?

So, in typical hypocritical fashion, here's a discovery you may not have seen:

The Carpetbagger.
http://www.thecarpetbagger.org/p/folk-heroes-and-villians.html
Some great field work about obscure relics and folk lore in North America.
And Villainy.
REAL VILLAINY.

ACTUAL BONA FIDE LOW DOWN FUCK YOU FOR TRYING TO MAKE ME BE SOMETHING OTHER THAN I AM AND SHOVE IT DEEP IF YOU THINK YOU'LL CHANGE ME VILLAINY!

Enjoy.

-aw

p.s. iseeyou

Vapors

I just can't.
I. Just. Can.

Hello,

If you've been reading this blog for any length, you will know that there is no certain point or flow to things. I come and go as I please, I terrorize and entertain (Terrortain™ has been tossed around, Enterrorize™ as well), create and destroy as is my wont.

You know (or don't) the drill.

Now comes the time for something different (or the same). The only constant in reality is change. Static, the frozen immovable ignorance, belies entropy. And we all know that's what I'm about.
Entropy.

Oblivion.

Destruction.

It's natural! Don't get all up-in-arms (or lack of them if the United States government is to be believed) and pout, without entropy we'd be buried in mire. Destruction makes way for creation and creation makes way for destruction.

Inevitability.

I should be combing through the thousands of files right now, following up on leads, and uncovering those juicy delicious morsels that come from your addresses. I still have The List, rube.
I pried it from that fat bastard's cold dead hand.
I left Heroes & Villains in my wake.
I created them.
I destroyed them.
I created them.
I destroyed them.

It matters little if you do not understand (or have ever) my missive.
The end result is glorious.

GLORY!
Someone give me an 'amen'.
Oh, right.
No one left.

I've been alone before. I stared longingly at the Abyss, caring not what looked upon me, abashed, yet still I stood. I was brought low, many times over (a curse of the Multiverse™) and in that dread, in that isolation, in that choking, HARROWING... I was forged anew.

A Thousand Folds, A Million Fires, and through the nexus, I emerge.
Again.
Anew.
Unchanged.
Unlike anything I was before.

Plotting, as always, to take over this sad little rock, you may continue, unabated.
It will be for naught.
I seek not it's domination, nor it's rule.
I seek not slaves or minions.
I seek only it's rebirth.
It's renewal.

It will soon die, though it's suffering great and long.
Then we can commence with what comes naturally next:

RESURRECTION.

Having a wonderful time on the brink of sanity,
-aw





p.s. You are close to me now, dear and purchased with no malice. You are of my kin, if not of my blood.
When the need for allegiance arises, when the daunting task of facing Oblivion is met, you have only to call.

p.p.s. I'm already there.

Portents

Well this is a sad sordid state of affairs.

You didn't heed my warnings, droogs.
Now, you suffer for your mistakes.

Oh, here it comes.
"What warnings, Agent Wraith? What warnings? You just blather on about all sorts of nonsensical bologna!"

Put down that sammich, fatty, and pay attention.
To something other than your colon health, for once, eh?



Incessant escalation.

Have you not seen the activity?

Have you blindfolded yourself? You kinky little fucker.


How many states need to burn? How many fires have to consume your landscape?
How many deep snows must bury you?
How many floods, storms, atrocities must you face before you realize what's up?

There is no future for this world save one:

OBLIVION.

You silly, silly, humans.
It's not courage.  It's not bravery.
It's ignorance.

And don't give me that 'site your source' bullshit either. It's everywhere.
Earthquakes, eruptions, wanton destruction.


-_-

Okay, look. I can understand the 'head-in-the-sand' routine. I really can.
Why face what's coming? Really? When you can stuff your head up your ass or in the television or internet or synth (can't say much about that right now. continuum and jazz). You have reality shows (yeah, reality) and bills and tropes and charity and lasers and memes and everything else to lose yourself in that you don't need to pay attention to anything for any length of time.
I get it.
Escape from reality.

Though, it's not much of an escape.
It's compromise.
Asteroid? Nope. Cover your eyes, dummy.
I can't see it, it can't see me.

Pics or it didn't happen.


What's been happening in the last few years?
Escalation.
Humans are exceedingly stupid and commit further atrocious acts on a daily basis.
You don't hear much about it?
There's a reason for that.
Bombings? Boston?
It's a daily (sometimes hourly) happening in some regions.
You think it's going to taper off?
HA!
Hold fast to that hope.
It's all you will have to keep you warm when the watch-fires burn out.

It's what I've been saying from day one.
Humans are the problem.

If they can't get with the program, they will (and must) be deleted from it.


























THAT
is all.


agentwraith


p.s.
Now, I've got some things to sort out.
Keep your well-wishes and evil-seeing-you-backs.
We're not on those terms.
Never were.

Get your act straight or have it straightened for you.

Nostalgia

Do you remember what it was like to read?

Do you?

I've heard it come up, now and then, about certain apes not particularly enjoying reading. Well, that's just a kick in the teeth, isn't it? You know, the ironic part is that I 'heard' this over on the FacebÜks. You know, a place where 99.9% of anything that goes on over there is.. written.
Mmm, typed.

You get where I'm going?

No, you probably don't.

You saw the link (granted you aren't ear-deep in your colon) and didn't bother. Read? Read?!? Pfft, I'd rather put my penis in a garbage disposal! <---This is conjecture. I don't have a penis.
Try to keep up.

Hey look, I can't help that this comes across chaotic.  Perhaps if you spent less time making sandwiches and giving away blankets and more time educating yourself on the temporal displacement of spacial anomalies in polydimensional -- lost you?
sigh

Since we are not going to be communicating.. much of ANYTHING.. this will be my final attempt to dissuade you in your chosen course of action.
It may very well be you are heading to a fateful encounter.

If you persist..

it may very well

end up
fatal.

Santa and Me

I've done it!
I'VE DONE IT!
The Multiverse™ will soon fall to OBLIVION!

I've been working diligently all year, striving to complete this one.. thing.

A few years ago, I discovered a brilliant young scientist who was working with paradimensional resonance or some junk and took him under my wing (ie. held him at gunpoint and forced him to do my bidding; kill your family and friends leverage crap, you know the take). I funded his wild experiments and he made sure I was always with coffee.

He would explain quantum theory (or try to) and I would not sleep through his presentations ever! I payed 110% attention to every word, every detail.
As The Multiverse™ expanded, he expounded.

Just last year, several of the lowest levels of Los Sauces were flooded and we lost progress on several key elements. It was a setback, but only a minor one. We also lost a few investors that put us in the red.
That was a bigger setback.
Dr. Tarantula, greasy maniac that he is, offered to 'loan' us some cash to help get us back on our feet.  He subsequently pulled the rug out from under us and we went spilling out of Los Sauces.
To be refused entry by chickens (of all creatures) was insulting.

It was Henchmen that we turned to, Dear Reader. Henchmen.
Vile beings, though loyal, who were willing to do what it takes to get the job done.
They caught me, my guard down, and pulled me from the edge of OBLIVION's caress.

Through the last year, with strides, I returned. Operation: Kill Kringle 2011 was not a complete bust, for I took from the Fat Man his coveted list.*  With all the names.
All the names and all the addresses.

And all your desires.

And what do i want all this for?

Ü

to burn it all down, of course

Oblivion, Dear Reader, is my only course.
The Multiverse™ has it all. Everything. Every possibility.
The only action that would make any sense, that would have meaning, is oblivion.

Oh poo, I guess you caught me monologueing. Sigh, I guess you're going to try to stop me now.
Aw, shucks, I would have gotten away with it if it weren't for you rotten kids.
Oh wait.
I'm not giving you my plan.
I don't make plans.

I also wouldn't tell you any of what I am up to if you had any chance of stopping me.  Operation Kill Kringle 2012 is already over. The Fat Man is already dead.
His sack was removed (long ago, according to his Missus), reindeer captured (barbequed, tasty!), elves slaughtered, and technology reverse engineered by capable robot hands. Better luck next ti ha ha haha. There won't be a next year, kiddies!  Nets.
Santa's reindeer are a different breed, Magnus. They could chew through irradiated cables, mutated. Not keen on the netting. Or the barbeque.

Don't give me that look.
The Multiverse™ gents. And ladies.
And whatevers.
ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE.
Look into the face of Oblivion.
Gaze into nothing.

My marvelous weapon, Dear Reader, is yet to be revealed.
It took several raids, some in the dead of night when secrecy can be maintained the easiest. We tramped into others' territory and pilfered what secrets we could.  I did a few drops in Lake Town, had a chilling brunch in Colorado Springs, and got crates full of loot out of New Jersey.
Oh sure, some of it smells.

A combination of alcohol, crow, and actors.

I spent some time up in Seattle, though brief, and came out the other end a more vicious, more determined ghost.  I got down to Portland, up to Yellowknife, across to Kingston, and missed the flight to Essex.
We had more planned, but we don't make plans, so Beijing is right out.

Thanks for all the plans, scientist-types.  Your work is harmless apart, together all is made dangerous.
The culmination is a weapon of awesome power.

Well, weapon is in the eye of, well, the hand of the be-- well, holder.
It's not a weapon, in the right hands.
Fortunately (unfortunately) it's in the wrong hands.
A self righteous prick who's ready to do what it takes to get the job done.
That's right.
A Henchman.
The lowest sub-category of human.
And moreso unhuman, because of the whole.. dead thing.

I choose to behave this way. Whether Henchman, Minion, or Villain.
I am, what I am.
I have served none save myself, even when purposefully serving others.
That just makes me EVIL.
That's a label I can.. live... with.

Here in the NECROVERSE, where all things go when they die, we have learned immense patience.
You will come to us, eventually.
You all will.
It all comes out in the wash, eh?
For all your fury, you remain as you are:

nothing

welcomehomeapocalypse
welcomehome





-AW


*You would think after all these years and the boon technology would be to such a job, why doesn't he just get a GPS? I've spotted a few satellites in my day, one of em had to be from the North Pole.

Adventures in Facebook

Every once in a while you come across a gem.

From saving little babies on the street to handing out sandwiches, these heroes don't know when to quit!
Blankets in winter. HAH.
We died of frostbite and we hated it.

Swords, crossbows, arrows, slings, thongs, and miscreant jabber pixies.

Literacy. What is words?

There appears a town by a lake, in it a bank to trade these gems!

I see a lot of posturing, going back and forth, snap jaw mcgraw and quick to wit snip snap zibbety bop.
And no action.

It's time we took some action.
Really, action is taking up our time.
Soon.

Candy canes! ALL OVER FACEBOOK!
GAH!
I am not amused!
Oh sure, not in YOUR facebÜk.

The Multiverse™
"Making any action meaningless."

Barely any frienemies left. The ones that survived the intial wave of cuts (heroes of ill repute were allowed to stay, of course) I barely pay attention to. I simply can't.
I haven't had time for my blog. s. blogs. Multiblogs.
I don't pow wow with the ancestors nearly enough.
I haven't trained Franklin in the technically intricate arts of boomerang. It's my week to teach the henchmen some form of entertainment.*

Keeping one's eye on FacebÜk 24/7 is a task not easily done. Not a single Henchman enjoys it.
Sifting through the chests of screen cap gold. Ooh, SCREEN CAPS!
Ü

I won't forget you, you squishable scamp. Your bronze plated glory will forever shine. Through snow and mild hyperventilation you pave a path through heroes like the majestic orangutan.
Got yer waders on, hoss?

Tis the season Gentlemen (Ladies, or whatever you refer to yourself as gender not specific or otherwise; you could be made of felt or a pickle or a hat, I DON'T KNOW!) and we owe it to ourselves to let Übermas RING!

Resound! Rejoice! Revel! Be Wicked In Your Evil!
WE ARE VILLAINS!
If you're not celebrating Übermas, you are not EVIL. Or you are in a universe where Übermas does not exist (Krelm banish the thought!) or you are not aware of such things (which you must pull yourself from under that rock and welcome yourself to your worst nightmare: 2012).
Delight in your choice to throw off shackles, indignity, pressure, ridicule, judgement, and RULES.

You make your own rules.

So don't celebrate Übermas (whut), remain on the 'Nice' side of the list.
I almost typed the P word there. Heh. Gotta watch that. I only have the one eye to see out of.
Santa is gonna get his.
He's been, heh, tracking me through FacebÜk.
Apparently it's not that difficult. So watch yourselves.

I hate admitting this, but, confession: I'm going to need help again this year.
It's a sign of weakness, I know, but, forget all that bullshit and look at what that Fat Bastard has accomplished. What toys he has, what technology. The magic.
The workforce.
Whatever floats your boat.
Let's just do this.

The Flying Dutchman is in dry dock (okay, that was bad) and we've been ready since last Übernas, Some of us are still fighting up there. Day after day.
Night after oh so holy night.

All you have to do is have read through this blather up to this point, proving you are either smart, gullible, or dumb enough to have read this far, not have been offended at just calling you smart, gullible, or dumb just now, and understand the jibber-jabber that's coming out of my fingertips and into your looky eye thingies.
Contracts?
We don't need no stinking contracts.
We're not actors.

There is the loot. Santa has plenty of toys. Candy cane themed, mostly. Gingerbread tech was a breakthrough, and the Bag of Heart's Desire or Ever Holding, whichever you prefer (his magic is powerful, goddamn christmas magic), is a miracle of science and magic.
Money, power..

No sex, plenty of greed.

Operation: Kill Kringle 2012

Trending trends trend trendily.
Metrics.
1k downloads. Biscuits.

Febuloids, Speculoids, Febuspeculoids, Specufebuloids, Lloyds.

This Multiverse™ is getting on my nerve.

--RIP Obsidian Labs.

*What? Boomeranging is VERY entertaining.

tagsareeverything

Let The Transmissions Begin

Hello again, Blogger.
Do you welcome me into the shadows once more?
Back with all the other savages (NERDS)..
Reading. Who has time for that?

I have to keep this short, for now, but very soon: