Thursday, March 27, 2008


Josiah sat in the back of his Escalade, bitterly sipping brandy. He was upset about Cyprus’s rejecting him, but he knew he couldn’t let such an insignificant triviality interfere with his evil plan. He was an evil genius, after all; he was above such menial setbacks as rejection.

“So what, Josiah? You’ve been rejected before. And how did you deal with it then? You exacted sweet revenge upon the women who rejected you! Yes, that’s what I’ll do. Nothing cheers me up like vengeance,” he said to himself. “Except berating Mischa. That and vengeance are tied.”

Josiah now greatly desired a cigarette, but he had spilled brandy everywhere and wasn’t exactly eager to set the car on fire, so he restrained himself.

Before long, the car arrived at the airport, where Josiah’s private jet was waiting. He gave the order for departure back to Washington and waited in the cabin, pouring himself another glass of brandy. The plane took off, picking up speed on the runway and launching itself into the air. It was a smooth ride.

“I’ll get my vengeance on Cyprus,” he said, “after I complete my evil plan. The evil plan must come first; I’ve put it off more than long enough already. I just wish this infernal plane could go faster.”

He poured yet another glass of brandy and downed it in one gulp. Shortly afterward, the plane landed in Washington, and Josiah got out, opting to walk to his secret lair in the Pentagon rather than call for a limo. The fresh air would do him good.

Arriving in his Pentagon office, Josiah set to work immediately, making all of the calls and double-checking all of the crucial documents. It was finally happening; his evil plan was beginning.

But then, quite suddenly, Josiah realized that he was in no mood to work that day. He threw the documents to the floor and told his secretary to cancel the orders he’d given, figuring he could just give them again tomorrow.

“Damn that Cyprus!” he cursed. “No woman’s ever had this effect on me before. I’ll need to get my retribution now. Then that pitiful excuse for an ecumenically psychic woman will learn that nobody turns down Josiah Malum. Nobody!”

And with that, Josiah set to work again, this time with a different goal in mind: to get back at Cyprus for rejecting him. Of course, he soon realized that he didn’t have any idea how to do so.
At length, Josiah concluded that the best way to get back at Cyprus would be to call her and beg for a date, so he did.

“Hello Josiah,” said Cyprus on the other line.

“How did you know it was me? This is a secure line!” shouted Josiah, irate.

“Forgetting I’m psychic was cute the first few times, but now it’s just a redundant gag without any real humor value,” replied Cyprus. “I’d ask why you’re calling, but I already know. Because I’m a psychic.”

“Well?” demanded Josiah. “Will you go on a date with me or not?”

“Of course not. The fact that you’re asking over the phone instead of in person doesn’t change a thing. If anything, it makes me less likely to agree. Is that all? I have to sacrifice a virgin to the god of bloodshed.”

“But can’t you see we’re made for each other? I love the god of bloodshed! We’re going bowling together tomorrow! He house sits for me sometimes!” pleaded Josiah.

“Sorry, Josiah. Wait. No I’m not.”

She hung up, and Josiah hung his head.

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