Possibly did Challenge 4, my first challenge, wrong (as Twitter pages are not actually checklists).
Aw well...

SALUTATIONS

I am a NEW person here. I have been cordially invited to join the ranks of the sibling duo of GLORIOUS ADVENTURERS.  My main hobbies are NATURE WALKS and VOLUNTEERING at animal shelters like a deep person. I hope you all ENJOY what I'll BRING to this blog. I promise I will stop all of the capitalizing NOW.
That is all.

So You Want to be a Super Villain Part 2

From the Desk of Dr. Malevolent PHD,MD,HUD,DD

Dear EvilKid55755
   I am honestly surprised at the speed and vastly improved diction of your reply. I would be happy to give you a few pointers on, as my adviser in the Himalayan Institute of Higher Villainous Studies called, your new "evil career of evil." But before I begin I must caution you once more. The career of a super villain may be long and dastardly but it is filled with danger, betrayal, death-betrayal and death. If you have any qualms about the direct object of the last sentence I would advise you to simply step outside, remove your shirt and I will begin charging the laser.

Consider it carefully.

Now that that's over with let's get on our way to making you a true villain.

• Think of a super villain name. This may seem like a very simple step up it is one of the most important parts of forming your new evil identity. Because frankly, EvilKid55755 wouldn't strike fear into a dog's heart even if you were looming over it with a rolled up newspaper. I also highly discourage using an internet name generator though that is how Aphotic Vile (and I believe Ru Paul) found their names it is coincidence only. And Aphotic has convinced me time and time again that he is both aphotic and vile. But that is a story for another  time. Your super villain name must be both terrifying and say something about you. It must instill fear in children and small animals while also making the UN take you seriously. It is one of the most difficult steps in becoming a super villain. Starting with a theme in mind can be beneficial or building your theme around your name can be just as effective. I leave it up to you.

• Get a costume. This step, like the name, can be decided after picking your theme. But I include the costume before to emphasis the importance of distinguishing yourself from the common terrorist. For example, you could be a bomb themed super villain, blowing up subway stations and planes and buildings but without a costume there would be nothing to separate you from those insane religious groups who do the same thing. The costume shows a commitment to the life style that the name never can. Take Bane from that god awful Batman movie. (No there are no theaters on the moon. I pirated that shit cause I'm evil) He was simply a terrorist but the joker from the previous movie, far more terrorist behavior but the commitment to the costume is what made him a true evil mastermind.

• Pick a theme. Again the theme can be complementary or integral. The Mastodon's polar theme is the guiding factor behind his name, costume, lair and henchmen. But picking a theme also requires a lot of consideration. Picking a bad theme can be the end of a super villain the same way a bad name can. If your theme is butterflies its quite likely you'll be laughed out of a few ransom discussions. A few of my favorite themes are: science, nationalities, skulls, darkness, the ocean, animals, industry, poison, politics or skulls.

• Get a lair. This is usually done once the villain has pulled their first major heist and raked in some of that fine green dough so lacking in novice villains. But a lair doesn't have to be a secret underground skull bunker or a skull island in the middle of the Carribean. My first lair was an old store room in the basement of my college chemistry building. Its taken me quite a few successful heists to get where I am now but having a lair, of any kind, free from meddling mothers, significant others or drunken room mates is a must.

• Get some henchmen. If you are still in the "basement" stage of your lair you may want to consider holding off on the henchmen. They must be loyal to the core of their being and must be totally subservient to you in theme. If one decides he's going to become The Evil Lab Assistant you may have a full scale mutiny on your hands. But once you've become fully established as a super villain henchmen are nearly indispensable (but don't let them hear you say that.)

• Tell the world. This can be the step that makes or breaks many villains. But without this step a villain operating out of the basement of a chemistry building in rural Washington will always remain a villain operating out of the basement of a chemistry building in rural Washington. You need to pull a major heist once you feel you're ready enough. A heist so grand that the world has to turn and go "Ah!" or gasp or maybe choke. The world has to make some uncomfortable noise about the evil thing you've done. This evil thing also must establish your national identity. For example if you were a skull themed villain and you began your villainous career by making an endangered species gun that would send a very mixed message to the world. Alternately if you identify yourself as a science villain and your first truly evil act is to dissolve an entire university into a pile of gelatinous acidic waste that would be a solid (lol) step in the right direction.

• Pick an arch nemesis. This does not have to be a mutual arch rivalry. Simply focus on one figure, super or otherwise, to completely destroy although not someone from the villaining community. We look out for our own despite what many believe. I recommend Mr. Splendiforous. Speaking from personal experience, he's a dick bag.

But if you follow these simple steps you're a head above the rest of the sheeple in becoming a truly villainous villain. You're about to embark on a life of danger, adventure, money, women and occasional victory. I look forward to hearing from you again and look forward to seeing you on national TV, in failure or triumph, very soon.

Yours Evilly

Dr. Malevolent

So You Want to be a Super Villain Part 1

From the Desk of Dr. Malevolent PHD,MD,HUD,DD


Dear EvilKid55755
   It is not often that I respond to any correspondence and even less often that I respond to such poorly worded as you have presented to me. And in answer to your earnest (and grammatically atrocious) questions, I present to you an answer.

Yes, I am a super villain. No I do not role play one. Neither does The Grey Fist, Captain Glamour, Mike Myers, The Mastodon, Aphotic Vile or Ru Paul. It is simply quite unfortunate that you stumbled across our private, and let me emphasis that again, private forum. Though now that I've revealed the truth you have exactly two options:

1. Moon laser
2. Join us

Honestly the super villain career path has gotten a bit of a bad reputation over the past couple years. Honestly, I would think there would be far more psychos coming to me vowing revenge on the world or their wife or Mr. Splendiforous. But most remain silent, move on with their lives, until years later they snap and beat their spouses to death with a claw hammer. I personally consider being a super villain a very therapeutic career path. Coping with defeat is of course a must, but there's nothing better than clubbing a few baby seals to fuel your heavily metaphorical endangered species gun to take the edge off the daily grind.
And of course let's discuss your other option briefly. Moon laser. No I am not joking. Yes it can fire anywhere. And yes werewolves burn just as crispy as everyone else.

Looking forward to hearing from you

Dr. Malevolent

Yo yo,
Yeah. Yes.

My beats are so fast like they ain't got no friction,
Fast as they speed of light, almost science fiction
And everybody in the crowd's in awe of my diction
Listening to me's almost like a benediction
to compare, your raps are in a state of dereliction.

I'll tear your rhymes apart with processes empirical
Past royal, presidential, this shit is imperial.
Every perform check I roll, I roll it a critical
When I walk in the room all the dames go hysterical
'Cuz just hearing me is an experience so spiritual
That everybody realizes, I'm a mother fuckin' miracle

My raps are so fine they've reached God Tier
That's right, ascended past the status of you mortals mere.
Armed with metaphors in my bandolier,
Sailin' cross the seas of rhymes, the illest buccaneer
So watch yourself, son, or your ships I'll commandeer.
I'll divide thine kingdom like I was King Leer,
that's right, iambic pentameter like Billy Shakespeare.
School you like Sherlock, sayin' "Elementary my dear"

TRIUMPHANT Challenge 4

 Grabbin' Those God Tier Pajamas

Digivolving Straight to Ultimate

I Just Caught a MewTwo

Rolled a 20 on my Initiative 

and Here's the Next Challenge:

Challenge 4

a comprehensive check list for the aspiring super villain

The Ballad of Illy McBeats

Once upon a time there was a bard of great renown
The town's folk would come from far and near to watch him break it down
He'd strut about the stage with his trusty lute in hand
spinning tales of gold and dragons from up there on the stand
But one day the minstrel stood there with a mean look in his eye
Today of all days it seemed the bard had grown quite shy
For he had yet begun to speak and the crowd began to murmur
They all gasped when he dropped his lute and began to rhyme with fervor

"You you've heard it all before
all my knights and castle lore
 what you haven't heard is me
and I'm the greatest MC
my rhymes can stomp cities, they're as strong as typhoons
they should call me Hirohito cause I'm droppin spy balloons
beats smooth as black ice, beats deep as Bara'dum
 hater call me loud mouth
I hit em with my round house
My diction causes friction written in your girl's fan fiction
listenin to this rap is like a holy benediction
my lyrics are like the Odyssey
they're filled with ancient prophecy
my rhymes are always lyrical
 and my metaphors empirical
as the function of my beats
approaches the x of your imagination
the limit of the graph is mental masturbation
but step the fuck back cause I'm not into you
and the result of groping me is straight defenestration
but don't be sad its common to be blue
the feels you're feelin are from my confabulation

I'm you're savior, I'm the minstrel, the mad mad mastermind
fuckin with me is like fuckin with the ends of time
I'm faster than a Delorian
He's eighty eight, I'm more than him
my gauge is toppin nine thousand
 his mph: Victorian
you're looking for the master? I've got some drums to show you.
you're looking for a banker? I've got more gold than Sutton Hoo
more seasons than a time lord
more bitches than a crime lord
donkey's love my provender I'm the king of stuffed asses
I'd ask for a rebuttal but you're slower than molasses

Oh you made a near rhyme? Fan-fucking-tastic
I'd get you a sticker but I'm too busy for your bad shtick
 I don't need your mad props
just stay off my bad side
cause if you cross me
your skull's my new door stop

you got yourself a scouter? let's check my power level
it explodes on your face, you know I'm badder than the devil
cause Lucifer's my home boy
we're marketing a new toy
I'm makin me a monster I'm callin it a mecha
not sure about the suffix but its just something extra
I've got missile's in my fingers and lasers on my tongue
If you wanna fight me you aren't living past "young"
I'm the Pokemon master you're just playin for shits
I've got myself a zapdos, already callin it quits
I'm Luke fucking Skywalker and you're just battle droid
You're forever alone like that slug in the asteroid
You want another beating you better wait for the sequel
What I'm really trying to say is
I'm Strikes Back and you're just the prequels.
"

And with a final profane exclamation the bard left the stage
But what he left was great awe that soon turned into rage
 Children were crying, lighter hearts were in fits
It was high time the pesky bard called it quits
the mayor's wife pulled his coat,she felt a kick in her belly
other women said the same and the mayor started yelling
They'd chase the bard out or he'd pay for his crimes
that rabble-rouser would never sing again let alone rhyme
they came to his cottage with torches and pitchforks
his house was empty what was missing was his horse
no one knows what became of that minstrel to this day
but the town's folk he scared forgot about making him pay
and to the end of days I'm sure he kept rapping
cause there would always be haters who needed some slapping

Challenge 3

Compose a verse or two of "ill rhymes."
Preferably on the subject of how ill your rhymes are.

Showdown at the Windmills (WIP)

That day, the sky was thickly pink and the sun beat down on her head as if it had been paid to.
That day the air was still and hot. She plowed through it with an unheeded vigor, kicking up ruddy dust and parting the dry silence into a hollow wind sounding in her ears. She hunched over her hovercycle as it sped across the dusty red landscape, weaving over it’s many folds and valleys looking like a crumpled blanket. Until, at the crest of a rocky hill, she spied the white, still spires of the windmills. As she approached, she gritted her teeth in anticipation and sped toward them as the constant whir of her engines crescendoed into a roar.
With a swift turn, she stopped at the top of the hill and dismounted. Above her the white giants stood attentive with blades motionless in the windless ruddy sky. Removing her blue-glass goggles and the bandana previously pulled past her nose, she surveyed her surroundings: She was alone on the hilltop. The sun beat down on her back through her worn suede coat.
“It’s taken you long enough.”
She whipped around. The voice came from a figure who had revealed themselves from behind one of the windmills. She smiled to herself, and could make out from behind their cloak that the figure was smiling back in a crooked smirk. The figure stepped forward, she matched their movements until the two were meeting each others eyes, facing about ten paces apparent.
“You ready?” Said the figure.
“When you are.” She replied. The two turned away from each other. She could see the windmill blades begin to pass lazily through the air.
3... She clutched her lazer pistol buried in it’s holster.

2... A stale wind began to pick up dust.

1!
The sudden sizzle of energy frying air as it  shot and the distinct smell of hot metal and burnt hair hit her in the fraction of the second she took to turn and duck to her knees. She braced herself for the kick-back of her pistol and fired three shots at the figure who stood with their gun still raised. With a fluid jerk the figure sidestepped, narrowly avoiding two of the shots, the third grazed their shoulder under their cloak with a hissing sizzle.




---

I must apologize for my inability to finish the first challenge, I swear to you it will some day be finished. But now, this shitty thing will have to suffice.

ravien

Doot doot!

Moni Gfragd

Challenge 2

A humorous drawing in the style of SBAHJ

The War of Hands

His father had given it him and his grandfather had given it him and it was said that the ancestor spirits had given it to him. It was a fine sword. Good heft. Straight swing. Impeccably sharp.
It was his time now. His time to swing the sword and to cleave bone. To cause pain in his enemy's and awe in his followers. He would become the head man as his father had done before him. Not the chief but his silent right hand. Always one step away but always ready with his sword. This sword. Someday. As his father had done in his day.
This was his first war day. He stepped out of his tent and he could smell the steel in the air. The camp had not woken and the hints of day had just begun on the horizon. He could smell the cold and the fog that hung over the pine trees that the sun would chase away soon. Soon. Soon it would be time to move. The anticipation tore his stomach apart like a nest of snakes. But it was good, his elders had told him. "Every boy is nervous on his first war day." He breathed deeply.

"Care for a game?"
"Oh of course, of course. You know me."
"I've got a great one today."
"You say that everyday."
"Because its always true. I have a great game every day."
The shake of a box of pieces. Two old hands place them with faint wooden clicks onto a board.
"What's this one called?"
"I haven't decided on the name quite yet."
"That's a lot of potential there."

He exhaled. He pushed the tip of his sword into the foot trod earth and ran his fingers through his hair. He had let it grow for too long.
Realizing his mistake, he quickly yanked the sword out of the ground and brushed the sharp tip with his fingers. His father had told him never to do that. It would ruin the blade. He looked into the blade and thought of his father. His father had died long ago on his seventeenth war day. When his son was still very young. Almost too young to remember. He missed his father. Although he would never say such a thing to his elders. They would call him a child.

"Is this all we have to do to set up?"
"Yes I believe so. I'm not so familiar with the rules quite yet."
"Alright then. I'll go first."
"But I'm blue. I should go first."
"Ha. No one ever plays by that rule."
A hand takes a piece lifting wood from wood and setting it down on a new region of the board with a soft confident clack.


  They stood in the forest. Atop their horses. Bundled in furs. They looked over the sleeping camp below them. Faint wisps of fog still clung to the top branches of the trees. A large gnarled hand clapped her on the back. "Don't worry. Everyone is nervous on their first day of battle."
She nodded moving a hand quickly over her armor, her bow, her shield and the sword at her hip. Last she patted her horse. Its breath drifted up and mingled with the fog that still girded the tree tops. She gripped her bridle. And those around her did the same. The waiting seemed like years. The tension coiled in her hands and her legs ready to jump forward like a striking viper. She heard the horn. Her mount charged down the hillside.

"Fair move. My turn?"
A hand gesture. Palm up. As if to say "Go right ahead"

The riders were upon them before he could think. A horn had sounded and theirs had sounded back. In response. In defiance. The men around him had awoken. Angry shouts. The elders were angry. Angry in defiance of what had happened. Of the men, and the horses, and the arrows that had come too quickly.
He dove out of the way of a charging horse slashing at its legs with his sword. He had no armor. Left in his tent. Only his bare skin now spattered with mud. His attacker wheeled about for another pass. He roared and charged.

"And what a turn!"
"I thought it was a fair riposte to your first "strike" as it were."
"Indeed it was. Indeed it was."
Hands cup a few pieces and shift them as one over the board.

She was the first in the wedge. It was quite the honor to have a green youth ride in the wedge. She had been nervous when she had been chosen for the vanguard and more when she had been chosen for the wedge. It required a superior horsemen and a cool head. Galloping through the enemy camp she felt a superior horsemen. And she knew for the first time the thrill of battle. They cut through hurriedly assembled ranks of invaders. Some wearing only piecemeal armor. Some still naked from sleep clutching only weapons. She cut them down. She saw a boy wearing nothing but a pair of hide breeches, clutching a beautiful sword.

"Again quite a fair move."
"I thought so." A smile tinging the words.
"Let me think for a moment."
A brief pause and then finally a confident tack.

Her horse's hoof plunged into a sink hole and it toppled sideways throwing rider from saddle. She rolled picking her self up off the ground. Her furs stained with mud and blood. Cries of pain. The smell of burning tent and flesh. The gallop of her wedge regrouping and riding on. Good. Good that they will continue without me.

He watched a horse fall. Watched a rider pick itself up off the ground. He had killed a rider moments before. Killed his horse and then pierced his heart as he lay trapped beneath. And now he would do the same to this one.

She saw the boy with the beautiful sword. She drew her own and they faced one another.
He charged roaring again though his voice was hoarse from smoke. But he felt the battle lust that the elders had told him he would feel.
She blocked. Blocked again. His savage untaught strikes slipping off her blade like water but forcing her back from the strength of them. She edged beneath his guard and caught him in the gut.
He felt the blade pierce the skin of his stomach but the battle lust was upon him and it was only a warm feeling seeping down his stomach. His arm was still outstretched past her shoulder and he stabbed toward himself into her back. Feeling the resistance as the blade parted vertebrae.
She stopped. Her blade still deep in his innards. He stopped. He felt the pain for the first time.
They looked into each others eyes. She grabbed his arm with her gloved hand as her legs gave out. He grabbed her shoulder to try and steady himself. They both pitched sideways still staring into each others faces.

"Hrm."
The pace picked up. Pieces rose and fell and rose and fell. Were tossed back into the box. The hands played smartly across the board like acrobatic spiders.

The battle raged on and she was still.

The battle raged on and he lay still beside her.

"Good game."
"Very good game. I like this one. What are you going to call it?"
"I'm still not sure."
"That's alright. You'll think of something."

The First Challenge

A battle. In prose. Where no participant is the winner.