The dark power of the prank...

The comments about this prank segue from "ha ha" through Godwin Land to a level of hysteria that a cheap five minute prank doesn't begin to explain.

I am of course a professional supervillain myself, and even I wasn't able to stomach reading all NINE PAGES of flames.

Can one of you professional comic artist defenders explain just what was so dire and evil about it. I mean, really, I could use the tips. Should I prank the Flash instead of siccing my hypervibrating superleeches on him?

Pig Wars

Chris Bishop has a more regular publishing schedule than George Lucas.

And his characters are more realistic!

Her!

World Domination!

When I added "World Domination" to my interests there was only one other blogger with that in their profile. Now there's over a thousand.

Now, folks, you know we can't all dominate the world, and I've already got a power-sharing agreement pencilled in with Kim Jong-Il (my fellow dictator). The rest of you will have to get another hobby.

Leechtroopers, ho!

Chris Bishop better pull another strip out of his ass pretty damn quick if he doesn't want to find a whole platoon of leechtroopers on it.

Her and Pig!

You started Her up again, and never told me, none of you ever said a word, I'm shocked, terrified, gobsmacked. Soon as my crack leechtroopers get back from Washington (don't ask) you're all going to be in BIG trouble.

Leeches on a fucking plane.

They shoulda used leeches.

Leeches are way scarier than snakes.

Especially exploding ones.

What's your email address again...?

So here I am again.

I forgot my password here, and so I went to blogger, hit the "recover password" button, and off it went sending mail to... who knows where. I never saw it.

So I turned around and checked my spam folders, and my spammer breeding ponds, and the leechmobile, and even looked under the couch I never move since the time Lex Luthor lost the drinking game with Brainiac. that's mostly what took me this long, I kept putting it off... for a supervillian the fellow can be awful dumb. You DON'T get into a drinking game with an android.

I survived. And either the bottle city of Kandor has a new suburb, or Luthor's "spillage" has forced a whole new level of evolution on the dust mites.

But leaving that aside, I finally had to go and set a sniffer on my mailserver to catch the packets from Blogger before they went into my mail system. I have no idea what I was thinking when I set up this account, but I found the address they use, and here I am... back again.

Crikey!

Oi think oi been posessed by the ghost o' that Steve Irwin bloke. Wot? He ain't dead? But I saw it on the telly! He got bit an' they forgot ta use FedEx!

[Update]


And now he's really dead, while I was off in limbo fighting zombie pagans with Bob and a clockwork clone of Charles Babbage for a year. Which explains this snapshot Charlie took with his patented exploding steam powered daguerreotype.

I feel terrible, really I do.