The moon base conference room glowed with the flickering of the flaming skull lighting, as the nervous villains gathered around the table. Greg slow-turned around, smiling sinisterly, strutting to the table to unveil his plan.
"Gentlemen, welcome to the death moon. You are all here because you decided to hell with that retirement bullshit, and wanna get back to villain work. As we all know, this shit costs money, and money is hard to get in large volumes." he said as his assistant handed him his coffee, stumbling and spilling it on his shirt. Greg sighed and turned his head with an emotionally dead expression.
"Sorry." she whimpered, running off."
"Really? You fricken kidding me? I own one damn white suit and you spill coffee on it. You couldn't use your one fumble when I asked for vodka, or was wearing any of the nine charcoal black ones I wear?"
"Should we reschedule?" asked the man in blue.
"No...we're not canceling because of a stain on some clothes, this isn't the Whitehouse, I'm not a frickin rescheduling, damnit. We'll just keep going and I'll fix it later." Greg sighed, approaching the screen.
"Club soda might take that out." He shrugged.
"Just buy another one." Suggested the woman in the eyepatch.
"Just pitch it? Just throw it away?" Greg asked with annoyance.
"Or steal one." she shrugged as the glistening of some kind of shark passed behind her in the big tank.
"Riiight, I'll just go to the big and tall section of the 'we make 8 foot clothing,' store. Just steal some?" Greg said, hitting a button on his remote and dropping her through the trap door under their seats. The others looked alarmed as they heard a splash, peering back at the shark tanks.
"That is exactly what kind of shit-stick mentality that got you all retired. Steal from the little guy, piss away your money on dumb things. Gentlemen and lady...well, now just gentlemen, the lady is no longer with us...Gentlemen, this is about the big picture, not robbing the stores and small business owners. We're villains, but we aim high and we have some kind of moral backbone."
"Is she dead?" asked the man in blue.
"Probably not, I just dropped her into the pool one floor down." he shrugged. The others looked back at the shark tank and back to Greg. "Oh come on, I'm not gonna drop you to your death for being a slight dumbass, I just didn't want her here anymore, she annoyed me, she was insolent. I won't tolerate that, plus I haven't tested the trap doors and I don't wanna find out they don't work when I actually need to kill someone.
"Are those sharks?" asked Blue.
"Yes, yes they are. Is that a problem?"
"I just...you have sharks in a tank and you dropped someone into water. I assumed they were related.
"Stop assuming shit. Sharks are intimidating and delicious. They make people uncomfortable and pliable and I love them with sushi rice. It's a fish tank, I'm a wealthy villain. What would you prefer I drop you dumbasses into...molten magma? A cargo net? I have a damn Olympic swimming pool directly downstairs from the conference room, it's scary and makes you worry on the way down, hence the sharks behind you. Are you suggesting I am a liar, or just providing your opinion regarding trap-door designs?" Greg barked.
"Neither, just...concerned."
"Good, that's the point. If you knew definitively, it wouldn't be scary enough to make you listen. Who the hell designed this chair?" he asked. A man in glasses slowly raised his hand. Greg pushed the button and dropped him through the floor. There was a dull thud rather than a splash. Greg looked confided, checking the remote.
YOU ARE READING
Dipshits in Space: Seasoru 7
Science FictionUgh, you again. Takes a lot to offend you doesn't it? Well guess who's back, back again and with an anime cover this time. It's the Dipshits, but this time it's a brand new ship, a brand new additional crew tacked on to the lovable turds you know an...
