(Bw) A-Ha-Ha!

That Foolish Hippo and his band of ruffians think they neutralized the hypnotic power of Xister by melting down my Scrying Spoon, tying my shoelaces together and leaving me to fend for myself in a late-night McDonald's in the east end of Montreal. I was further taken aback to realize that my polished Parisian French was nigh-unintelligible to these Canadian Francophones. However, an unfathomable genius such as mine cannot be thwarted so easily, and two days and several dozen Happy Meals later, I was free!

My first action was to trade my boots in for a pair of laceless loafers. My next was to hasten back to my time machine, which I had left disguised as piece of public art in a downtown park. I found it covered in French graffiti, and the skateboarders seem to have used it as some kind of launching pad, because it was covered in wheel marks and scuffs as well. But the temporal drive was still working, so I set the clock for my birthday and had a small but gay party for myself in an attempt to alleviate my somewhat dejected spirits.


Hey you punks! Keep off my time machine!

Then, while surfing the net and checking up on my arch-foes at Fakiegrind, I discovered, much to my glee, that Flatlander has been let go as administrator of the website. What's more, the fools are looking for a new webmaster to replace the foppish freestyler. The intricate clockwork gears of my formidable mind were instantly set into motion with a new and fiendish plot to overthrow Dept. H and set myself up as the indisputable Overlord of all of Blogland.

Yes, revenge will be swift and sweet, but to claim my rightful destiny I knew I would have to resuscitate and old colleague of mine, a certain magnetic master of disguise and mayhem. So, I navigated my time machine to materialize deep within the bowels of Dept. H's Bunker 51 warehouse, and there, amidst the well-catalogued UFO fuselages and freezer units full of eerily glowing cadavers of unidentified interstellar species, I found the object of my quest.

I pried open the wooden crate and shone my flashlight into the darkened interior. Yes, he was all there: metallic body parts gleaming in the half light, facial sensors dead, for the moment, awaiting only a revivifying electrical current to course through its microprocessors and re-animate the most deadly robotic assassin in this sector of the known galaxy.

I hauled my disassembled friend back to the time machine, and set to the work of re-attaching his appendages. When all was in place, I uncoiled a yellow extension chord and plugged it into the back of the head-port marked "recharge". A spark, a whirring of internal gyromechanisms, and the android's fingers started to twitch as microhydraulic mechanisms set the cyberflesh to animation.

Yes, I bellowed. Yes! Come, my metallic friend. Arise to your destiny. Open your bionic eyes to the light of a new day in which we shall finally crush the simpering Fakiegrinders beneath our masterful boot! The time is upon us! The time for us to

AWAKE!

Hypnotize Them All!

As a member of both the Black Cheddar contortium and Roboshrub Inc., as well as the Armada Automata, I feel my alliegences frequently torn. That's why I called in the Black Cheddar Hypnotists to brainwash me into not caring. I lost 80 pounds that way, and you can, too! Send all your money to the Anti-organic fund.

"You are getting not sleepy, but lethargic."

In the name of Kind Evil Robo-Bob Dole!

Dino Power is Ours!

If you were wondering where the arch-hypnotist formerly known as Xister has been these past months (being mortal, you may be forgiven for the use of such a puny temporal increment to measure my absence), I will tell you. I have been to the past--the deep past, where I had many adventures, one of which lead to the changing of my name from Xister to Non-Xister.

Yes, I have unlocked the secrets of non-existence, and have returned to the blogstream with power beyond imagining as the Supreme Chancellor of Non-Existent Entities Everywhere, or SCNEEE, for short. More importantly, I have raised a dinosaur army, a team of specially outfitted dino-warriors from the past, who should materialize somewhere just south of the city of Winnipeg any day now, at which time the Great Leveling will begin.




But enough! The Non-Xister is weary from temporal-lag and must rest his unsurpassable faculties in a deep mediation that only superficially resembles the semi-catatonic state you mortals describe as "sleep". Speaking of which, you will forget you read this post, or even heard of the great dinosaur army set to devour a major urban centre near you sometime in the early summer months.


This is merely an artist's projection of the coming carnage.

You will forget about this and feel remarkably refreshed, exuberant, and falsely optimistic when you finally

AWAKE

Bad Memories

King Evil Robo-Bob Dole was awakened last night due to a series of bad dreams involving a strange man who the King reports has "a familiar feel to him."

The mystery man in the king's dream.

In one recurring nightmare, King Evil Robo-Bob Dole is standing at a bus stop waiting for a canoe to the afterlife. Then the man appears and starts screaming something about His Majesty's "original purpose" and how he betrayed himself by aligning with the robot clowns and despotism. His Highness the Dole then interjects with how if roads were paved with pork, we'd all be eating gold.

Evil mind-man, by the authority of His Highness and Majesty King Evil Robo-Bob Dole, I command you to leave the King's dreams poste haste! To drive the point home, I'm going to implant a special posthypnotic suggestion into the minds of everyone who visits this blog.

*waves hands*

It is done.

*bangs gong*

Now return to the bleak mindset from whence you came!

Endtime Insurance Sales Skyrocket

In another sign of impending doom, the futures market took a nosedive and sales of Armageddon insurance went through the roof. While the Endtime Adjuster has not been sighted in many, many weeks (it is believed he is adjusting the tables in a sub-saharan restaurant for tips), several of the marketing tactics used by the Endtime Agents have been traced back to the venerable Adjuster. Fakie Agents were unable to comment on the sudden appearance of the Edtime Agents, despite the fact that both groups are Agents.

An international effort to locate the Adjuster for his account of the Agentry has failed, due to his time-shifting abilities. One minute he's in Cancun, Mexico enjoying a brisk Spring swim, the next he's in Nepal in 1911 teaching the locals how to skydive.

As the Armada Automata prepares to strike on Roboshrub headquarters, one can only paranoidly imagine a link between the rise of the Endtime Agents and OneStar. Is there a link? I must report all this to King Evil Robo-Bob Dole, as I serve him in a sub-official capacity. Ever since my ethereal body was abandoned and I was forced to reside within the shell of an old robot, I've wondered what the Reckoning would feel like. Now, we, the Anonymi, may get that chance. Long live Evil Robo-Bob Dole! Long may he reign!

Yes, No, Maybe

Ha ha. Now your are confused and more susceptible to my powers of hypnotic persuasion. Leave off this infantile campaign to secure the freedom of the Blogosphere, and, by proxy, the solid parts of the Prime Material Plane. I am your rightful Lord and Liege. Go. Make a nice cup of tea. Think over your options, then admit YOU ARE NOW MY SERVANT. I own the clocks. I control the horizontal and the vertical. DO NOT ADJUST YOUR PETS. They belong to me, The Xister. Because I am, I am so great.

King Evil Robo-Bob Dole Decries Public Water Usage

Outraged by the amount of water that gets wasted each time a fire hydrant is damaged, King Evil Robo-Bob Dole went on a hunger strike yesterday to protest what he sees as "The degenerate aquatic abrogation."

Joining him in his battle against water wastage is world-famous anti-ocean activist Nigel Stottlebottom. Stottlebottom has spent the last half century fighting the proliferation of the world's oceans, and is now working side by side with Evil Robo-Bob Dole to build a land bridge into the 21^st century. The duo has already solicited over a billion kilotons of gold-pressed latinum from ultra-rich donors throughout the gamma and alpha quadrants.

This is where Evil Robo-Bob Dole lives now.

The Dole-Stottlebottom consortium hopes to end frivolous and overall usage of water by 2012, when a meteor is expected to strike and wipe out all life on Earth. Until then, stay indoors. And drink lots of water.