Mission Two: The Heir Necessities

Ugh! Babysitting. It seems no matter where I seek employment, my advanced combat training and superior paper knowledge is always overlooked and I'm relegated to the menial task of babysitting.

"Alright," I said to the plethora of heirs before me, "Raise your hand if you're potty-trained."

Prince didn't raise his hand.

Arafat didn't realize that was something people were.

Sarah Palin raised her hand.

"Good," I said, but before I could make my decision, a little boy spoke up.

"She's lying!" the scrawny little foreigner stated.

"Aw, gosh darn!" Palin exclaimed. "Ya got me!"

I was intrigued by this little tattletale. He seemed so innocent, so morally-certain, so malnourished. I'm sure Doom would want to fix that.

"Alright, you, boy. What's your name?"

"Mowgli," it replied with a smile and a salute. "Are you my babysitter?"

"Think of me as your life coach," I said with an evil grin as I thought about how I would turn this boy into a worthy heir by the time Doom gets back from his shopping excursion

Hours went by and the little boy did nothing but sit quietly and occasionally read a book on organic chemistry.

"You're a really good boy," I commented.

"Thank you, sir."

It was looking hopeless. This kid could not be any nicer. "Let's go do something about that. Do you like breasts?"

"I cannot eat chicken," he replied.

Moments later we arrived at the Bada Bing.



"Now, the first thing any good bad guy needs to know is that women are meant to be objectified," I explained to my new protégé. "Then just view the rest of the world like that. Once you realize everything and everyone is here only to fulfill your basic desires, you'll be on the right track."

"Like the bare necessities?" the boy asked as I slipped the bouncer a c-note.

"Sure, whatever."

While we pushed our way inside, Mowgli began singing. "Look for the bare necessities, the simple bare necessities. Forget about your worries and your--"

"Can it, kid!" a heavily-tattooed man yelled while making a threatening gesture toward Mowgli.

"I think I will not sing in this place," he whispered to me.

I patted him on the head and set him down near the stage. "You'll get a good view from...stop that!" I slapped his notepad out of his hand. "You don't need to take notes, just watch."

Unfortunately, Britney Spears was stripping tonight. I guess that's to be expected at the Latvian Bada Bing. If you can't meet the standards of American strip clubs, then you end up having to perform in some obscure European nation. (Speaking of which, is Latvia even on the map?)

Despite this minor setback, I think the boy benefited immensely from the experience.

"Wasn't that entertaining?" I asked once we returned to the castle.

"Did somebody say entertainment?" Brad Pitt walked out smiling. "Just give me a few seconds and I'll put on the orangutan outfit. You like that right? You like Mr. Orangutan."

Mowgli just cheered.

"Mr. Orangutan?" I asked.

"Yeah," Brad replied. "His dad hires me to entertain from time to time. The kid likes monkeys."

"Hold on a while," I said to the overly-attractive actor. Turning to Mowgli, I said, "You know what would be really fun? Firing that stupid actor and insulting his career."

"Really? Is that...appropriate?" Mowgli asked.

"Of course! It's what Daddy Doom would do." I pushed him forward and said, "Give it a shot."

"Umm...Mr. Pitt," Mowgli said softly. "Your services are no longer required."

"What?" Brad Pitt screamed. "Are you kidding me? You're kidding me? You're kidding me, right?" He pulled out his phone and hit a speed dial number. "Babe, this kid is firing me. No, he's kidding me. He has to be kidding me. You're kidding me, right, kid?"

Mowgli glanced back at me for advice. I just shook my head.

"No, sir. I do not kid you," he said.

"You little jerk!" Brad Pitt said still on the phone. "No, this kid. He's like three years old. No you can't adopt him! I don't know. I guess I'll just have to do another George Clooney movie. Well maybe you could stop buying so many clothes!...."

"Go on, insult his career," I encouraged.

Mowgli let out a nervous cough before stuttering, "L-legends of the Fall...it was very long. I fell asleep during it, sir."

Suddenly, Brad Pitt flipped out.


He struck poor Mowgli with the phone. I took advantage of the moment. "Say the word, and I'll shoot him," I offered.


Mowgli replied coldly, "Do it."

I fired three shots into his torso.
"Why?" Brad Pitt screamed out before falling to the floor, dead.

"Good," I said, helping Mowgli back up. I think you're going to make a good super-villain yet. Say, how would you like to sit in the throne while the old man's away?"

"Will you be my orangutan?" he asked.

I thought it over and then answered, "Sure. Every good super-villain needs a henchman."



I'm sure Doom would be proud.