Bwoh-ho-ho! Sinister Season’s Greetings, fiendish friends and enraging enemies, and anyone else on my mailing list. It is I, the Nefarious Dr. Wilhelm Skreem! Gasp in grief at my revolting reindeer sweater. Squint and squiffle as you attempt to understand my horrendous handwriting. Curse with… a nurse as you realize I very craftily omitted my return address. Nice try, suckers!
As I sit under my menacing mistletoe in my Stray-Z-Boy chair (made of euthanized kitten furs), warm by the fireplace in my invisible subatomic submarine in an undisclosed underwater location, I can’t help but reminisce. Look back on the year I’ve had. Christmastime is here, heralded by the sound of jingle bells in my ears and the stench of Batman in my nostrils. It seems like only yesterday that I was rigging the Times Square Ball to fall backwards and reverse time, so that everyone would lose a year and I could be older than everyone else, and thus better. Sure, I ended up being thwarted by overzealous security guards and the fact that time doesn’t work that way, but it was an honest evil scheme.
My creature that I stitched together from the remains of composer Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, with a few anonymous body parts here and there, was a success and a failure. The idea was that said creature, who I named Mostly Mozart, would compose beautiful symphonies. And then, within those symphonies, I could sneak in subliminal messages. You know, things like, “Give all of your money to the Nefarious Dr. Wilhelm Skreem,” “Bow down before your new dictator, the Nefarious Dr. Wilhelm Skreem,” “Pick up dry-cleaning.” That last one was mainly just for me. Sadly, it turned out Mostly Mozart had none of the musical skills his living counterpart had. No, all of that had been replaced by a desire to terrorize villagers. He ran rampant through the village and and the villagers revolted. They decided to chase him away with torches and pitchforks. The problem was, no one owned any pitchforks, so they went to order some online. Ultimately, Mostly Mozart grew tired of terrorizing that village and presumably moved on to another one. The villagers never found a website to buy pitchforks on, but they found some other website which turned them all into fans of Animal Collective. I ask you, who is the real villain in that scenario?
If you read anything about me this year, it was probably all the media coverage surrounding my lawsuit. After getting burned badly from an ill-advised trip to the beach (don’t ask, just know those little pills that claim they’ll hatch dinosaurs when submerged in water only result in like 3 inch sponge dinosaur facsimiles. Shocking, sure, but Operation Jurassic Beach of Death was an abject failure.) Anyway, since the burn was so painful, I decided to sue the sun. I figured I’d get a handsome settlement out of it and maybe the sun would retire in disgrace, plunging the world in total darkness! My attorneys at Ampersand & Ampersand thought I was mad to file such a celestial suit, but I insisted. The sun, of course, insisted on a jury of her peers, so we had Jupiter and Saturn and some no name star along with a couple of astrophysicists and some just folks to round it out.
Well, you know how that turned out. I pleaded my case eloquently and evilly, with a few well-timed bwah-ha-ha’s to really sell my persona as a mad genius bent on world domination. Unfortunately, it worked too well, and not only did he judge find for the defendant, he and the jury chased me from the courtroom and through the streets like I was some terrible version of the Beatles. No, even worse than the Monkees. Jefferson Airplane? Regardless, I used my Transportational Top Hat to escape, and I’ve been hiding out in my invisible subatomic submarine ever since. By the way, not that you asked, but my invisible subatomic submarine is named Unknown, after my mother.
No, don’t worry, avaricious acolytes, I am already hard at work on my pernicious plan to destroy Christmas. Reindeer traps have been set in the stratosphere, with a vile and malicious vegetable medley as bait. Also, I sent Santa Claus a copy of Atlas Shrugged so he may not feel as charitable this year. And if none of those plans work, I have my Chimney DeChimulator, a ray gun that will remove the chim from all the chimneys of the world, leaving the worst part behind- the ney! Santa can’t do anything with the ney, he needs the chim to shimmy down into your house. Bwah-ha-ha! Humbug!
So, I hope your Christmas is ruined and you and yours will soon bow down to me. Horrible Holidays, Bwah-ha-ha!
I remain,
The Nefarious Dr. Wilhelm Skreem

P.S. Begone!