Now that I have captured your attention, allow me to share a little more about me, The Nefarious Dr. Wilhelm Skreem. No doubt you have often found yourself wondering where I hang my chagrin-assisting chapeau, where my unholy unwelcome mat lays flat as a poisoned pancake on my fiendish front porch; in a word or nine, just where does the Nefarious Dr. Wilhelm Skreem live?

Some say he lives in the darkest shadows of our minds, where the most sinful thoughts whisper amongst themselves in a grievous game of Telephone, others believe he is the bump in the night that rousts the slumbering children from their nightmares into a real life nightmare of reality in the night with mares for some inexplicable reason. The real answer is that I currently reside in my invisible sub-atomic submarine. Previously, I lived in a cozy Dutch Gothic estate in Valley Junction, whilst also splitting time in my secret underwater lair buried below the depths of Beaver Creek. Unfortunately, I couldn’t afford either residence after a number of questionable financial decisions from my accountant. It turns out leasing a 1994 Mercury Topaze is not the high yield investment he predicted it would be.

So, I burned the Dutch Gothic to the ground and sublet the subterranean secret lair to a lovely couple just getting in on the ground floor… of evil! However, this left me, the Nefarious Dr. Wilhelm Skreem homeless and forced to sleep on the couches of some of my evil acquaintances, like Frankenstein’s Monster, underworld mob boss Tony Brain-in-a-Jar, Corporal Octavius Unibrow, Jason Friedberg and Aaron Seltzer, and the Devil himself. You’d be surprised how comfy Satan’s sofa is!

Finally, I found an ad in Mad Fancy for an invisible sub-atomic submarine. It was being sold by a previously invisible submariner and I bought it for a song (“Have You Ever,Ever Really, Really, Ever, Really, Really, Really, Ever Loved a Reallly, Really, Ever Woman” by Bryan Adams.) And it is here that I currently reside. Granted, it’s not perfect. I had an infestation of translucent cockroaches, Murphy Bed Bugs crawling out of the walls, and I’m still plagued by the invisible beard trimmings of the ghost of Benjamin Harrison. But its invisibility allows me to glide undetected through the waters like a stealthy shark or a camouflaged Mark Spitz. So, don’t try to look for me, because I won’t be there! Bwah-ha-ha!


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