Oh my, oh my, oh my! Look out, World of Goodness! Thou hast a new foe, and his name is Gary! Soon, the great Scourge of Gary shall be released upon this Earth like a plague of cockroaches. Really irritated cockroaches. Like as if they had just gotten haircuts and have all those little hairs itching their necks. Cockroaches! Hairs! Necks!
My Evil Genius knows no bounds. Not one bound! My plans will make me famous. No, infamous! I will be feared and loved like Billy the Kid or Ronald Reagan. Future generations of aspiring nemeses will marvel at my braggadocio and flimsy moral fiber, not to mention my diabolical schemes. No mention! Diabolical! Schemes!
Get on board now, plebes. My reign will be run much like the Dave Matthews Band fan club, where those who have been members the longest reap the benefits, and those who jump on the Gary bandwagon will reap nothing, and may get raped! Be smart and reap! Avoid reaping nothing and the chance of being raped! Machiavelli’s The Prince shall be my Bible! The people will fear me, for I will decree that all song lyrics must be taken literally, then record my own version of Michael Jackson’s “Bad” and play it constantly over a worldwide P. A. system hidden in fake stones. Unseen! Bullshit! Rocks!
And how will I get there? Once the world recognizes my egomania, I will have no trouble seizing power. And they inevitably will. Who has the cunning guile to notice that the bulletproof plastic “protecting” bank tellers doesn’t run all the way to the ceiling? Gary, that’s who! And whose malevolence has identified the rubber tires as the Achilles’ heel of armored cars? Could it be Gary? Yes it could! And was! Which sinister potentate is working this very minute on a DNA vaccine? I don’t know, but his initials are GARY! Who can take the sunshine and sprinkle it with dew? G- to the A-R-, Y- to the NOTHING! Y! NOTH! ING!
Prepare, mortals! The Age of Gary fast approaches!