(no subject)
Dun-dun-DUNNNNNNNN!
There's a moment of silence in Dr. Evil's secret volcano lair, version 2.0, before the squeaky wheels of Dr. Evil's slightly dented rotating chair roll down a ramp and deposit him at the end- No, he keeps right on rolling past the large conference room table. Squeak, squeak, squeak. "No. No, no. Fan-frickin-tastic." The evil doctor eventually pulls himself back to his usual spot, eyes daring any of his minions to comment. Mini Me is strapped to his chest.
"Riiiight. Number Two? I thought I told you to rip out the speakers. My evil at bat music gives Mini Me a headache. Isn't that right, my precious boy? Oh. Daddy was covering your ears. Yes. Daddy loves you."
Number Two looks down the table, as if searching for a heretofore unknown (because he built the asinine volcano lair version 2.0 from his own architectural plans) means of escape. He clears his throat. "I'll take care of it, Dr. Evil."
"Oh, come on. That's not even the same lil' dude," says Scott. "That's not your stupid clone in stupid one-eigth form. Or whatever."
"Silence!" roars Dr. Evil, again making his hands into earmuffs.
"His hair is green! He HAS hair!"
"Really, Scott. Didn't we provide you with an evil mirror?"
"Don't even get me started on his teeth. What IS that? The Bride of Chucky?"
'Mini Me' grins. It stretches from ear to ear and shows far more than one row of teeth. Scott recoils with a disturbed "AH!" while the others seated at the table studiously avoid glancing past Dr. Evil's clavicle.
"He's going to devour me in my sleep!"
"Maybe you deserve it. Did you think of that, Scott? No. Because you are a constant disappointment to your old man. Yeah. You're like the sugar substitute of evil, except not 'equal.' Not 'sweet,' only 'low.' Not 'splenda.' Do you see what I did? SplenDA, not splenDID. It's a declension. Look it up." He rotates to eye the entire table. "Bring in the video playback device!"
"BRING IN THE VIDEO PLAYBACK DEVICE!" yells Frau.
"Ungh," mumbles Number Two, wincing.
"Charming," drawls Dr. Evil. "Okay, people. I have a plan." He pauses while the others straighten up and adopt looks of proper interest. "It has come to my attention that two diabolical teenagers by the names of 'Carly' and 'Sam' are hosting a worldwide dance competition. Contestants are to submit videos to their 'website.' They will pick the winners and air them for all the world to see. Muahahahahaha!"
Silence.
"No? Nothing? I'm surrounded by frickin' idiots. Number Two!"
"Yes, Dr. Evil?"
"Why don't we have a-" more finger quotes "'-website?'"
"Well, I think you'll find that we do. Virtucon has established a web presence for several of our more lucrative endeavors. Starbucks alone had a record number of hits last-"
"I am not interested in the mob, Number Two. We called a truce in '75. The Treaty of Bruges. Yeah. When I take over the world, they get Sicily, Vegas, Chicago and the Outer Banks. I meant an evil website for our personal evil use. Perhaps... iDr. evil?" He looks shifty.
"Um..."
"Why don't you just take out an ad in the New York Times? Sheesh." Scott lowers his voice. "A-hole."
"I heard that, Scott. NO! Down, Mini Me. Don't eat the boy who inspired me to create you."
"Actually, Frau and I-" starts Number Two.
"Quiet! Don't be insolent. I will create the most stunning, the most difficult, the most exquisite dance video and win the competition. Fabulous and fierce, as Tyra would say. Once I win and it's loaded on their 'website,' we, by which I mean you, will hack into their 'website' and broadcast our demands! One MILLION GAZILLION dollars or the world is mine! If the viewers resist, we will begin showing repeats of The Brady Bunch episode in which Marsha broke her nose."
"That's your plan? To take over the world through interpretive dance?"
Frau begins calmly dousing Scott with the squirt bottle.
"Hey! Whatever, Michael Flatley."
"Who? Honestly, sometimes it's like you're from another planet. Now-" Dr. Evil removes Mini Me from his carrier, plops him gently on the ground and stands, straightening his gray jacket. Limbering up, if you will. "There are many options to consider. A reenactment of 'Thriller' is a natur-al choice. Nothing says evil like an army of zombies. Yeah. But it might be too soon."
He looks around at their blank faces.
"Too soon," he decides. "Riiiight. Put 'army of zombies' on the to-do list. Okay. There's always this old stand-by."
Dr. Evil takes the remote from the Minion in Charge of Rolling Things and points it at the TV cart said minion had just rolled in. It plays:
Click to view"It ain't nothing but an evil thing. Yeah." Beat. "I don't know who edited in some of those fembots... Okay. Maybe not. That was a rough year. Very emo."
"Gold who?" asks Scott from the back of the room, where he's rolled his chair and covered his eyes.
"Or this." Dr. Evil presses another button.
"Number Two you look positive-ly fresh there. Like a spring chicken."
Scott rolls his eyes. "I hate that stupid song."
A moment later, he screams.
"Where did Mini Me go? Oh, well. He's a busy boy. There's one more." Dr. Evil watches the latest selection for a few seconds before widening his eyes and pressing any button his fingers can find. "No. That's not it. Throw me a frickin' bone people. No, I have no idea who is in that ridiculous cat costume with the very tall hat. Why. Won't. It. Turn. Off!"
Finally, he removes a chair from the table and replaces it with the TV cart, then presses a button on his rotating chair. The TV, cart and tape of The Cat in the Hat are rapidly incinerated.
Frau coughs quietly and smiles up at him.
"How about.... no. Okay. I see it is once again up to me to follow through on my evil plan. I'm cool. I'm hip. We'll win it without you." He bobs his head. "Mini Me and I will be in the dance studio. Learning evil choreography."
Mini Me appears at his side, holding an orange shirt. Scott had been wearing orange.
Number Two does a triple take and goes to search the volcano.
"Bring me a Hot Pocket and a Sunny D in an hour. Don't make me liquidate you. It's hard to find good minions on short notice."
He should know.
~ ~ ~
The next day, Frau sets down the video camera and gives the dancers a smile that is almost as unnerving as the one on Mini-Me's face.
"Very good, Herr Doctor. You are sure to win."
"Really? I wasn't sure if it got weird there at the end."
"No. Not at all! Miming to MC Hammer was an inspired choice. America will vote for you. Not just America -- the vorld!"
"I thought so. It's good, isn't it? Yes. The part where Mini-Me did the shopping cart was breathtaking. He's my special boy!"
"Yes. I particularly enjoyed your Goth dance."
"I think the montage was the way to go," he nods, adjusting his leg warmers and wrist bands. "Vanilla Ice, Air Supply, Weird Al. Honestly, removing the Justin Timberlake bit felt right. He's such a poser."
"Shall I mail ze tape?"
"Nooooo. No, no. I will take the evil tape and make evil arrangements."
"Okay. Herr Doctor?"
"What."
"You've got a..." She gestures to his forehead and eye. "On your..."
"Oh! Yes. That's glitter. All the dancers wear it. It will make me more photo... Photogene... intimidating on camera. Yeah."
Frau smiles again, slyly, looking up at him from the corner of her eye, and shouts "Dancers OUT!"
As the dancers file through the door, Mini Me tugs on Doctor Evil's leg warmer, waves and scampers out himself. Doctor Evil casts one nervous glance at Frau and follows, skipping up and clicking his heels together.
Sadly, there's no Fame style freeze frame. Number Two will get on that, right after he finds Scott.