Answer: Invisible sub-atomic submarine


1. L
2. L
3. &*())*&^%$
4. L


Knock, knock.
Who’s there?
Evil who?
Evillage People!

What time is it when an elephant sits on your Apocalypto Death Ray?
Time to get a new elephant!

Knock, knock.
Who’s there?
Bwah-ha-ha who?
Bwah-ha-hannah and her sisters!








1. Bwah-ha-ha!

2. Harrumph!

3. Ze teory oof relativity.

4. Evil=MC squared.

5. Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio; a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy; he hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! My gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? Your gambols? Your songs? Your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar?

6. Ze mass oof a body eez a measure oof eets energy content.

7. Raspberries!

8. Cod dooz naught play dice wiz ze Youneeverze, hecksept ven playinck Yahtzee.

9. Winning isn’t everything, it’s the only thing. That and Fruity

10. Begone!

ANSWERS: 1. The Nefarious Dr. Wilhelm Skreem 2. Both 3. Professor Albert Einstein 4. The Nefarious Dr. Wilhelm Skreem 5. Neil Simon 6. Professor Albert Einstein 7. The Nefarious Dr. Wilhelm Skreem, also Carol Channing in Thoroughly Modern Millie 8. Unknown 9. Fred Flintstone 10. All of the above.



Bwah-ha-ha! It is I, the Nefarious Dr. Wilhelm Skreem! Have you forgotten me already? Good! That just illustrates the power of being under the radar. When you are an evil genius like I am, you must maintain an air of secrecy, like oxygen unbeknownst to even the most sucky of breathtakers. Now that is some super secret air!

When I began this blog, my intent was to take over the internet by force. If I was to rule the world, the internet was the best place to start, you see. No other series of tubes and theorems holds more power than the world wide web, and once my slithery grasp squeezes the last juices from this web and leaves it drained of electrolytes and cowering in the corner of its once mighty kingdom whilst I brandish the mighty throne of the internet like a sword in the stone of the universe, cackling gleefully at the sick, sad puppy the internet has become, peddling the streets for loose change and a hot cup of pizza, I will then finally be able to comprehend this sentence. But these things take time. And time takes patience. And patience is time times things divided by patience. Plus I’m a bit loopy on homemade cough medicine. So if I appear to not be making sense when I’m talking or typing it’s because my lips have lost their feeling and I am attempting to type with them. How was your summer?

Wait, I was talking about staying under the radar. Here the three or maybe more tips I have for conquering the internet by not making a big splash:

1- Don’t tell anyone about your blog. I have publicized this baby as little as possible. It worked!

2- Repost old blog entries. Over half of this blog is reposts. Are you starting to get the picture? Are you?

3- Write about things no one cares about. Everyone doesn’t care for me, and I want it that way, to quote Jim Morrison. Are you experienced? Don’t tell the internet about it!

4- Don’t become a meme, whatever that is. Don’t be a cat or talk to empty chairs. All celebrities can be classified as either cats or empty chairs. I just made that up! Someone run with it.

5- Do you have a robot? I do. He makes a terrible dinner companion. Did you know my robot can play bass? Not long a bass, short a. I mean not the guitar, the fish. I’m pretty sure this is my robot. It might have been a dream I had.

6- Where was I?

7- Oh yes.

8- Don’t wear Hawaiian shirts. You want to stay under the radar, no Hawaiian shirts! Also, just don’t wear them.

9- Don’t. Just don’t. That’s all.

Um, begone. (I end all my posts with begone.)


Bwah-ha-ha! Bwah-ha-ha! Bwah-ha-ha! And again I say bwah-ha-ha! Once more: bwah-ha-ha! You may ask, dear reader, why I continue to laugh evilly over and over and over and over and over and over again. Am I being tickled? Did I hear the greatest knock-knock joke ever devised? No, my repulsive readership. Sometimes it just feels good to laugh. Long and loud and evil.

I was also just reading this Wikipedia entry on evil laughter (, and found it surprisingly edifying. Perhaps the most interesting point of the entry is that they are infrequently used as nouns. I feel that I should start a new trend of using evil laughter in a nounsenical format. To wit: “My bwah-ha-ha has no bananas.” Only, you know, a better example.

I am also drawn to the next statement: “An evil laugh is often entertaining for friends because each one may be unique.” Unique! Yes, even you can entertain your friends at parties with your very own unique evil laugh. Here, I will give 11 examples of evil laughs you can use at your next party for free. And don’t forget to use them as nouns, infrequently.

1. Moo-hoo-ha-ha-gai-pan.

2. Ha-ha-ha! Ho!

3. Teedly-deedly-diddly-da-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!

4. Honk-whee! Na-na-na-na-na!

5. Jammin’ on the one, ja-jammin’ on the, jammin’ on the one!

6. Ha-chi! Maw-chi! Ha-chi! Maw-chi!

7. Gwuh-huh-huh-huh!

8. Ha.

9. La la la la laughter!

10. Bwoo-hoo-hoo!

11. Heh.


Bwah-ha-ha! Welcome, frenenenome, to the fourth and current post on my evil website. I am but six or so hundred more posts from ruling these tubes! Then you will google I and only I, the Nefarious Dr. Wilhelm Skreem! Bwah-ha-ha!

Once I’ve woven control of the world wide webosphere betwixt my phearsome phalanges, you will only read Wilhelm Skreem-approved material. No more nonsense. No more Nunsense! Just the things I love, evil, evil and more evil. And the Mighty Ducks movies.
But don’t fret. There are only a handful of things I truly, truly hate. I have listed them below so that you may know what you’re missing once I have seized control of the internet. DO NOT torment me with my pet peeves or you will feel my wrath! And my wrath is an itching, burning sensation right in the center of your back, where you can’t reach!

1. Teacup Pigs
Ooh, I hate their shifty, squinty eyes. They’re hiding something siniser, I just know it. Like, “You won’t believe what I just did in this teacup.” Really, the combination of any farm animal and glassware just nauseates me to no end. No end!

2. Revolving Doors
Infinity in a glass wall. I spent a summer in on one of these once, searching for the exit until I finally found it in time for school. Too confounding even for my tastes. Plus, it’s the whole square moving in a circle thing, and I hate mixing shapes up like that. It’s why I also can’t stand Hollywood Squares.

3. Schwa
How does that lower-case e defy gravity so? And to what purpose? The schwa baffles science, which is totally my gig. Back off, schwa, you don’t see my coming to your work and unstressing vowels!

4. Sombreros
Sombreros confound me. I don’t know how to respond to them. Are they for happy times or sad times? The word “somber” is in the name, but people wear them to parties and parades, not funerals and math class. If you figure out what you’re all about, Sombrero, I might forgive you. Might.

5. The Wave
Mass chaos! I usually love mass chaos, but not the audience participatory kind. Once you get swept into the carnivalesque atmosphere, you let your guard down. Then, you never know if some sneak will stick a pin, a pie, a land mine or a baby under you while you’re standing. That sneak might be me, but it might someone else trying to pay me back. And I will not stand for karmic retribution, even if I feel compelled to stand for the Wave. Pay it forward at your own peril, Haley Joel Osment!

Those are my top 5 pet peeves. I also hate do-goodery, smiles, bravery, heroism, boy scoutism, and bologna. Uck, bologna! Begogna!



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!



Hello, Cotton Candy Beardos! My sincerest apologies for my sporadic posting as of late. I haven’t forgotten you, my four or five readers. I’ve just been a little busy lately. Too busy to write for your blog, you ask? You must have been crusading against the forces of darkness, or at least shadyness. What could possibly keep you from posting on a bi-weekly basis?

I have an awesome excuse, though. I became a dad in October. So, I’ve been busy playing with him and trying to catch some sleep when possible. But I haven’t been completely dormant! In case you didn’t know, there is an official spin-off blog that’s been up for a couple of months now, entitled The Nefarious Dr. Wilhelm Skreem. So far, there have been a number of re-posts from this blog, but there is and will continue to be new content in the near, distant, and chubby future. You can read all the evil excerpts here:

So, I promise to keep posting, though perhaps not as consistently as I have in the past. What I would like to focus on next is a new project I thought of not long ago, and I’d love you, my readers and fellow writers, to assist me. I call it The Fingertips Project. I’m sure most of you are familiar with the songs that make up Fingertips by They Might Be Giants, from their album Apollo 18. What I’d like to do is write a story, or short play or make a drawing or some such thing inspired by each mini song from this series of songs. If you are interested, please let me know in the comments and we can all (or both or none) confab and try to make this a super-excellent collaborative project. What do you say?


Nefarious Dr. Wilhelm Skreem?

Unblinking Eye of Laser Beam?

Antoinette, Head in a Jar?

The Delete Button & Space Bar?

Scooter Howards, the Tween Wolf?

The Monster of Pacific Gulf?

Evil D.P. Sven Night-Fist?

Moe, the Headless Unicyclist?

Princess Brigitte Half-Nelson

Bowie Knife & Thomas Gun?

Hotsy Tots, Feet Made of Fire?

Pam Beehive ‘do of Barbed Wire?

Quincy Quash, Professor Doom?

Felix Flash, Who Dares Assume?

If your name was not called off,

Sorry, you’re not evil enough.


I didn’t think I was much of a Cat Person until I met Matilda. She’s an even worse Cat Person than I am, I thought. I laughed derisively. I’ve got to do something about my derisive laugh. And maybe start talking aloud.

Matilda was trying to scratch a sofa, and failing miserably. “She’s got no claws; that’s her problem,” I said aloud. Matilda turned and glared. “Oops, I should not have said that aloud,” I said aloud.

“Oink,” said Matilda.

“No, no, it’s meow. Cats say meow. Pigs say oink. We are not pigs.” I had been lapping up a bowl of milk and it was dripping from my chin like fatty tears of frustration onto my fur.

“Last time I checked, cats don’t speak English either, Mr. Smarty-Pants. I mean, meow,” another Cat Person named Eliot said. He had me there.

I decided to go back to drinking my milk and minding my own business. The only thing worse than a bad Cat Person is a know-it-all hypocrite Cat Person. That was Cat Person 101. And it was the reason I was here in the first place.
We were all stuck on this deserted island, outcast like the unworthy Cat People we were. The mad scientist Dr. Moreaurles had created us, along with dozens of other animal-human hybridizations. For his crimes against nature, he had been exiled to a deserted island. For our failures to be perfect crimes against nature, we were exiled to an even more deserted island. We were exiled by an exile. So yeah, I didn’t count pride amongst my virtues.
Anyhow, Matilda wasn’t so bad. It was kind of cute, how she mixed up her animal noises. Sometimes she’d wander over my direction and look me straight in the eye and go, “Moo!” I don’t know. There’s just something endearing about a Cat Lady going, “Moo.”
I tried to escape the island once. I drew up great big plans, with rafts and explosives and costume changes and a musical number about memories and moonlight. It was all intricately thought out and time-consuming, and I was ultra-secretive about it. No one knew. But I ultimately shelved the notion of leaving. Because what would I do if I escaped? Live in your world, where I would be a bad Cat Person who stuck out, as opposed to fitting in here? What did I hope to accomplish?
Also, when I was just about ready to go, to really leave and start my life over as, I don’t know, a bad Cat Person accountant or something, Matilda wandered over to me, playing with a catnip mouse. And she looked me in the eyes with those huge, cat pupils. It was as if she knew I was going, even though she had no way of knowing. But there was a longing there, in those round pupils. And she asked me to stay, in her own inimitable way.

She said, “Quack.”


“Sit still, Floyd, the glasses are still warming up,” Dr. Edgar Euphonium said. The glasses in question were his latest invention, Z Ray Glasses. “You see, Gottfredson,” he had lectured me, “regular x ray glasses only perceive to the xth level, which stops at the skeletal structure. So you can view someone’s internal organs and bones, if you dig that sort of thing, but if we really want to get down to the nitty gritty dirt bandwidth, we need something more powerful. Hence, the Z Ray Glasses, which perceive all the way down to Level Zed, the omega of levels. Nobody’s seen that far before!”

“Huh,” I said. “So, why am I all dressed up?” He had insisted I dress in my Sunday best, and had also seated me at a stool in front of a beige backdrop. It was exactly like getting my school picture taken, except there would be no 8 X 10 glossies or wallet-sized photos for Grandma. At least, I hoped not. Dr. Euphonium had even adjusted my chin placement like a school photographer. He could be odd sometimes.

“This is an auspicious occasion, Floyd, my boy. A truly stunning discovery is being made. And I want you to look sharp when I document it for posterity.” So, there may be 8 X 10’s. “Ah! The Z Ray Glasses are warmed up.” He placed what appeared to be oversize novelty sunglasses on, then attached the thin black cord trailing from the stem to a small television. “Here goes nothing,” he said, staring at my torso. For some reason, I was offended by that remark.

The television immediately came to life, snow bursting and bars rolling up the screen. Dr. Euphonium adjusted the antenna until both ears were straight up. The picture cleared and we were treated to the most unusual sight. Tiny, bug-like figures were seated on chairs, reading the newspaper. The background was deep red. “Extraordinary!” Dr. Euphonium said. “Gottfredson, these are the miniscule germs inside your body. Judging by the color, I’d say they live in your bloodstream.”

“Are they reading a newspaper?” I asked. Before Dr. Euphonium could respond, one of them glanced out looking directly at the doctor.

“Psst, Merle,” it whispered to the other germ, apparently named Merle. He glanced up. The other germ pointed at Dr. Euphonium.

“They’ve spotted us!” Dr. Euphonium said. “This should be interesting.” The germ named Merle rose and addressed the doctor.

“Hey, pal!” he shouted, in a distinctly New York accent. “Do you mind?”

“It’s speaking to me, Floyd!” Dr. Euphonium said, “This is astonishing!”

“Hey, Mack,” Merle said, “I ain’t gonna ask you again. Don’t make me come out there.”

“Uh, Dr. Euphonium,” I said, “maybe you should turn it off.”

“Listen to the pip-squeak, or I’ll give you what for,” Merle said, shaking four of his six limbs. Dr. Euphonium quickly shut off the Z Ray Glasses.

“Incredible,” he said. “And yet, utterly freaky. Let us never speak of it again.”

“Agreed,” I said, “I’ll never bring it up again.”