Wednesday, December 15, 2004

Savior of Mankind

So the machinery has been put to work to grind out yet another infallible plan for ultimate world domination. Why dominate the world, you might not ask? The simple answer is to gain total control of the aurora borealis. For millennia, the lights in the northern sky have looked down on man, mocking him with bright colors and whimsical patterns. No more shall we endure this most vile of slaveries.

So, the plan: Life on earth is often described as carbon-based, and I feel that it's about time that some great genius (I put forth yours truly as a prime candidate) took advantage of this huge loophole in the grand scheme of the vain A. Borealis. This inevitably leads us to burnt toast, arguably the simplest fashion in which to obtain the vast amounts of carbon vital to fueling this crusade. With a thousand thousand toasters and uncountable storehouses of various breads (with no ethnocentric discrimination, white, wheat, French, Italian, fresh slabs of Congo bread, etc.), my army of Mongolian housewives can produce the purest toast carbon in the hundreds of thousands of cubic kilometers per hour. Once the carbon collection phase is complete, we will fill various advertising dirigibles (such as the Goodyear blimp) to bursting with the toastalicious carbon dust and set sail for the four corners of the earth.

In the next phase of the greatest scheme ever conceived, my Mongolian housewife army will gather up every device in on the planet capable of moving even the smallest amount of air, fans, air conditioners, gas powered windmills, talk show hosts, and more. Though the weak people of Earth may weep as we remove fully half of all daytime television, leaving them with nothing but endless hours of Russian soap operas about mysterious evil twins being in comas, in the end they will worship my name and cast themselves prostrate before me in supplication as the deliverer from the savage overlordship of ridiculous Eskimo lights.

As we pass over the surface of the world in our aircraft, we will release the carbonized toast into the atmosphere, blocking out all extra-planetary lights. A tower will then be constructed, in my image of course, arms upraised to the sky, fully 40 miles into the air. Its eyes will be filled with a quiet wisdom as they gaze across my wide domain.

As the situation demands, we may need occasional sunlight in which to grow wheat that we might make more toast to burn, producing fresh carbon. This all in the event that the dread fire in the sky might penetrate our toasty carbon armor. In this unlikely circumstance, we will perch all of our air moving devices on my enormous outstretched hands. Led by Ricki Lake (on the left hand) and Jerry Springer (on the right hand), they will open a patch of clear sky for temporary usage.

If you should like to join me in my admirable quest, do not be discouraged even if you are neither Mongolian nor a housewife. However, if you are a spy for the Aurora Borealis (or its evil twin, the Aurora Australis) you be dealt the harshest of punishments (being put under the direct command of both Ricki Lake and Jerry Springer).

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