Some Apologies From The Authors
We’re very sorry. The Story of the Villain Who Systematically Hunted Down and Killed Everyone Who Told Her Story will not be appearing in this book for, erm, technical reasons.
We’d like to apologize to Loki, but only because he knows that when we say “We’re sorry”, we’re lying.
We were going to apologize to Bastet for including her in the same book as Goldfinger, seeing as how Goldfinger’s bodyguard ate cats. But it turns out she’s a Fleming fan herself, and quite fond of that particular volume in the series. “Oddjob is an excellent example of what happens, in the end, to one who harms one of Mine,” she said, with a certain quiet satisfaction.
We’d apologize to you for this book existing, but then you’d probably have to apologize to us for reading it, and things would get all kinds of awkward.
We apologize to the Real Evil in the World for satirizing it with Fictional Evil.
We apologize for the fact that we, like the rest of you, no longer have reliable information sources to tell the difference.
We apologize for Villainpunk. And that needs no explanation at all.
Code Of The Shocking Pink Illuminatus
(To Be Read With Closed Eyes)
Never surrender your Transylvanian soul.
They have the money, the power, the logic; theirs are the
guns, the beer, the air conditioning, and the light of day.
But we have the Mad Science.
We draw the blood of destiny. We autograph madness. We
scribble in the margins of the books of Fate.
We are the professionals.
We are the grand meddlers.
We hum thoughtcrime in barbershop quartets; we throw open the
vast doomgate of Things Best Left Unknown; we penetrate the great
telepathic obscenities of salad (if you use Russian Dressing, you
are one of THEM! Be warned: we know where you hide your tuba.)
We are concealed, but we are by no means gone; subtle, but
strong.
Let them control What Is.
We are the caretakers of What Might Be.
The Satisfied Lightbringer
(for William Blake.)
“I never fell,”
said the Prince of Hell.
“I gladly leapt
while others slept.
I don’t give a toss
about the Boss.
He’ll win in the end—
we all know that, friend.
Yet first they come to me, they do:
the Good, the Bad, the whole damn crew.
There’s not a human fully grown
who hasn’t earned a place of his own
in Hell. For here’s the situation:
One and all deserve damnation.
At best we are a flawed reflection
of the One alone who holds perfection.
For those who claim forgiveness saves—
that may be true. But many graves
hold those who said, with easy breath,
‘I’ll Repent before my death.’
If you through Heavens’ Gates do fly,
do not be wholly fooled thereby.
But understand this. And know it well:
You may be spared. You may not be cursed.
But before you got there,
I rejected you
First.
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