Endorsed by the Premiere Fake Scientists in the field...

...why they're out in that field is anyone's guess.

Summer Cold or Diabolical Experiment?

Tiny Evil Robots Dancing

First they dance for you, then when you are mesmerized by their hypnotic gyrations, they come to get your children...

Vampire Vixens with Hotwings

When you're on the road (the missus kicked me out, it's a long story) it's important to know where you can turn in the unlikely event of some competitor's rogue experiment or dark denizen of the hoary nethertime.

Eat your heart out, HP Lovecraft.

Say you’re being pursued by vampires. Yes, vampires. (Stranger things on heaven & earth, Horatio...) You borrowed their DVD of Cocktail and they want it back, but you can’t find it, so you’ve been forced to flee. (It could happen, Vampires love Tom Cruise as a rule.) So the Legions of the damned are hot on your trail and you find yourself in a part of town where all of the Walmarts are fresh out of stakes and garlic and there’s nary a church to be found.

What’s a horror movie hero to do?

I wouldn't know, I'm a mad scientist. And what I would do is order up some beer & hot wings and chat up the cute co-ed in the short-shorts of course. Because according to my extensive research, if you’re being pursued by vampires and churches are rare, rest easy, friends. Hooters is holy ground.

That’s right, Hooters!

According to some cub reporter at Fox News, in June 2006 Monsignor Isidore Rozycki blessed his town’s Hooters. (And I thought the "Blessing of the fleet" was a nice tradition... Oh. Oh, no no, the restaurant, people! This is a family show!)

"But I can only eat so many hot wings, Doc. At a church I can find secret Vatican force of vampire hunters or pick up an approved Vampire Hunter's Kit. At the very least they have holy water!"

Like you wouldn't rather have holy beer anyway. Fine, okay. Sooner or later you’re going to have to leave the restaurant, whereupon you will be in no better shape than when you went in. Well, you won’t die hungry, I suppose. (Or sober, necessarily)

In the interest of keeping my loyal readers alive, I have taken it upon myself to prepare a little primer on Vampire Slaying.

Step #1 - Ask to see his passport or driver’s license. If he’s an American Vampire, great. Proceed to step #2 with all due haste.

If your vamp has a foreign passport, you have a problem. In an age of heightened cultural sensibilities, you’ll find yourself being slapped with a subpoena faster than you can say “Buffy” should you attempt to kill them in a manner out of sync with their deviation from the Carpathian mean. (Because we all know that lawyers have ties to these guys.)

(Unless you're from Arizona, I guess...)

Luckily, we can turn to Cecil over at the Straight Dope, who helped us out with our Zombie problem awhile back. He has compiled a list of the traditional manners of dispatching the undead in a manner which is sensitive to their country and culture of origin. Please feel free to print out Cecil’s list and keep it in your wallet for quick consultation, should your place of refuge’s traditional hour of last call fall before sunrise.

Step #2
Dispatch the vampire.

There are several ways in which to do this. American vamps conform to the Bela Lugosi school and you can feel free to wail on him with the nearest sharp pointy stick, torch, chainsaw, plate of hot wings, buxom waitress, high-heeled shoe, or whathaveyou.

For cross-cultural extermination, I refer you to Cecil’s list, mentioned above.

Now there are those who whiners would poo poo our fun, who would have you believe that the vampire chasing you is just misunderstood. Or perhaps make the specious claim that vampires are merely suffering from the rare disorder Porphyria, which is caused by a blood deficiency and (in extreme cases) causes facial and skin issues which sound compellingly vampire-like.

Bunk.

This simply doesn't hold up under scrutiny. If some fellow is actively seeking your blood and shying away from stakes, crosses, garlic and Hooters girls, then rest assured you have a legitimate prince of the undead on your hands. You may stake him and order another round with a clean conscience.

And if none of these things work? Run faster.

Cute Robots are Dangerous

This is an ingenious little robot, but she does not look to have job satisfaction. If I am not mistaken, she slips the poison into the cup at the 1:45 mark...

The Mad Scientists of Hazzard County, GA

The space program owes as much to popular culture as it does to science. HG Wells influenced early space travelers as Albert Einstein. And the internet was created first in the minds of wild-eyed geniuses like William Gibson and Phillip K Dick decades before it was made true by their fans who said "What a cool idea, let's do it!"

This is why all the real scientists are mad... at least a little.

But what happened to the kids who didn't read those guys? What about the kids that idolized Evel Kneival? What happens when the kids who lived for their Hotwheels and Matchbox cars and harkened to the horn of General Lee grow up? What marvels will they introduce to the world? What ideas will the Dukes of Hazzard inspire?

Nascar? Monster Truck Rallies? The next step in the evolution of the Space Program?

Wait... Say that last one again.

Recent innovations in the Hotwheels approach to space travel has given us the strange and magnificent Space Ramp! Some mad scientists who didn't allow themselves to be distracted by the possibilities inherent in the giant marauding robots because they'd watched Bo & Luke Duke jumping over Miller's Creek in the General Lee one too many times said "What if we built a way that you could jump into Low Earth Orbit!?"

Then they set out to do it. And if that doesn't scare you... this will. They succeeded. Well in theory anyway. if nothing else a whole bunch of them banded together and went looking for a way to build a ramp that they can use to jump into space.

Brilliant. Mad as a box of hatters, but that's the way I like 'em... crazy mad brilliant. I - for one - would love to see it. Besides, how cool would that be? Daisy Duke in space! (insert wolf-whistle here)

"Just some good ol' boys,
never meanin' no harm
beats all you never saw
been in trouble with the law (of gravity)
since they day they was borne..."

-Waylon Jennings

You people worry too much about zombies

It's the marauding robots that are going to kill you, you know. Yes, Virginia, your Roomba is plotting against you.

Ask the Mad Scientist - Advice Column

"Worried Mom" writes to ask: "Our child is gifted, but sometimes does things I cannot understand or that don't seem to make any sense. I worry that she might be turning into an evil genius. How can I tell?"

---

Dear Worried Mom,

There are, of course, warning signs that appear over time that will give you plenty of notice that your child is an evil genius and should be sent to a school that specializes in helping little Suzie or little Jonny develop their natural gift for diabolical chaos and harness it in such a way that they might one day stand atop the smoldering heap of civilization, lord (or lady) of all they survey.

You will know your child is a budding evil genius if...

1. if taking their pacifier out of the country violates arms control treaties. (Binky go boom!)
   
   
2. if their science fair project requires a license from the Nuclear Regulatory Commission.
   
   
3. if their Teddy Ruxpin only wants to read HP Lovecraft. (Favorite book: The Muppets of Madness)
   
   
4. if their "Tickle Me Elmo" starts to tickle back. (As if they're not creepy enough already)
   
   
5. if you put them on the changing table and they change. (Dr. Jekyll's infant formulae...)
   
   
6. if their tree house begins to draw a suspicious amount of lightning. (Bonus points if from a cloudless sky.)
   
   
7. if instead of dissecting their frog in science class, they reanimate it.
   
   
8. if the mock UN at their school imposes trade sanctions against their lunch swapping.
   
   
9. if they have an arch-enemy by the age of eight.
   
   
10. if they reach the top of the rope in gym class without touching the rope. (Jet packs: always a good sign.)
    
    
11. if their favorite night light is a Tesla coil.
    
    
12. if the monsters under their bed seek asylum under the neighbor kid's bed.
    
    
13. if their GI Joe action figures stage a coup in the playroom. (Two words: Barbie Guillotine)
    
    
14. if you tell them to paint the fence and find Haliburton doing it for them. (They made it look like so much fun!)
    
    
15. if their college fund gets a large deposit attached to a plea to turn the sun back on. (Eclipses are better than allowances. Trust me.)

So there you go, Worried Mom. Rest easy. Unless it's your bed the monsters sought shelter under.

Sweet dreams!

Don't touch that dial

After an unfortunate accident, I had to re-label my latest giant robot (he hates being called the Maraud-o-matic but I think it's growing on him. Kids! What are you going to do?) Igor chose the wrong setting and all hell broke loose!

This is why OSHA demands clear labels on machinery in the workplace. And a big red STOP button. Must remember to install one of those...

Goddam LOLcats. (shudder)

Jekyll's Martini Party

Last weekend I allowed myself to be persuaded to join the Jekylls for martinis. Pray, allow me to state upfront that this is invariably a terrible idea.

I dearly adore Dr. Henry Jekyll and his dear wife whatsername, but I do make it a personal rule not to drink any cocktail that is served with a body part floating in it pinioned upon a tiny pike.

And vermouth just is simply not supposed to smoke like that. I care not what the chemist told you.

The night was... transformative. I know that by the time dawn cut the clouds, we were all a bit green around the edges. Some of us more than others.

The party was the usual fare. Always the reanimators (Henry & Viktor were both there) kvetching endlessly in the corner about how modern people simply do not execute sufficient numbers of criminals for them to complete their ungodly experiments. John and Dejah swanned through uninvited as always. They did not stay, thank the dark powers -- such insufferable boors the two of them.

Henry, is a mean drunk and some feelings were hurt and the odd limb broken. But he is one of my few remaining dear friends from the old days and such ties must needs be kept. Bridges mended and tended as they say.

Just don't drink the martinis.

Blogging?

Igor says I need to blog. I do not know why. He fusses about how I do not fit in with the moderns, that I am too old-fashioned in my habits and dress.

I have begun to Twitter, which is well enough I guess. It does seem to be a decent way of gaining followers and we all need more minions. If there are enough over time, perhaps I shall start a nice cult like mother always wanted.

What else?

I should introduce myself, Igor tells me. I think he just wishes I would call attention to the caricature he drew of me and insisted that I post on this blog.

I really should rethink my habit of recruiting liberal arts majors as interns. They are just so thankful for the jobs, you see.

Decent minions, if you are willing to overlook their artistic quirks. I do not look like that. My ears are smaller and there are more resonance rings on my deathray.

I am Villainous Deeds, PhD. Yes that is my real name. My mother never forgave me for ruining her figure.

I am the latest in a long and distinguished line of Scientists and practitioners of the dubious sciences. My grandfather once conquered Europe at the head of an army of clockwork automatons but was routed when they all wound down at an inopportune moment. Such is the life of a mad scientist.

Of my illustrious education and academic standing, you may learn about in the dossier appended to this blog.

I was born in 2022 and raised in the 1890's. (Friends do not let friends have unprotected sex in a time machine. There are consequences to leaving a wet spot on the space/time continuum, let me tell you.) I hopped around quite a bit in the timestream until I left home in 1948 to seek my fortune.

Between 1948 and 1950, I vied for control of Europe with a French mad scientist name of Pierre-just-Pierre. It was at the height of this intrigue that Pierre's minions snuck into my lair and reset the alarmclock. I slept in my cryogenic chamber for 60 years, awakening refreshed and a bit confused at the dawn of 2009.

During my slumber, the brainwave enhancer designed to take me from being a mere evil super genius to an EVIL SUPER MEGA GENIUS malfunctioned and fed fifty years of television and movies through my dreams.

I am now an EVIL SUPER MEGA GENIUS of pop culture trivia. Not exactly how that plan was meant to pan out...

Capitalizing upon my strange new trivia mastery to dominate a series of television gameshows until I could buy a small island and withdraw to dream my evil dreams.

I am also taking extension courses at the local community college in Mega-Giaganto Robotics. Interesting stuff.

I think that is all for now. Sleep well, denizens of Earth. Know that your future dread lord and overmaster is awake and scheming and will be conquering you soon.

These are a few of my favorite things...

Wind on rainy night
Holds at bay the earthy scent -
Waterlogged zombies.

There's nothing more evil than pop music!

Welcome to my secret lair. Please, have some Zombie serum. It really is better over ice, but the machine is on the fritz.