Guest Poster: The Haitian - Scary Mister Bennet

Friends,

I am worried for Mister Bennet. He is such a good, kind man. Well, he sometimes is. Okay, occasionally he says "good morning" to me, but other than that, he really has no manners whatsoever.

Despite his shortcomings in politeness, he is devoted to fighting the evil paper company he once worked for. Killing his old friend, Ivan, was just part of that fight. I am concerned, though, that he enjoyed it more than he should have. He is going to Hell!

It's a place I have been before. My daddy, Old Haitian, was a mean old man, but wise and powerful. Growing up under his rule during a Haitian summer really felt like Hell sometimes. Plus, we had no television. I was denied my Saturday morning cartoons and instead had to rely on rabbit skinning for entertainment.

But I am not here to talk about me. Mister Bennet has been good to me. In some ways, he is very much like a father to me, but better. Sometimes, if I'm good, he'll let me drive the Nissan. And he always takes me for ice cream after a successful bag and tag. Yet, now it's been a long time since we've had ice cream together. He is a changing man. It's almost as if the idea he had devoted his life to had suddenly turned out to be a lie. He has lost his faith.

I tried saving him by clapping. It works with dead fairies.

"Stop that," he would say, "I'm trying to sleep."

"Sorry."

As he lied his head down on his pillow, I would begin clapping again.

"Stop!"

It was no use. My father, he was a shaman. I'm sure he would know what to do. When he was upset with someone, he would give them diarrhea. So, I tried sneaking laxatives into his food. But amazingly they had no affect on him! It's amazing what the company can teach.

I fear there is no hope for Mister Bennet. He is a good man, but he does evil things. I think it will only get worse as time goes on. Perhaps the bullet in the glasses is the only thing that can stop his ruthlessness. Or perhaps its just a midlife crisis. Maybe it will pass?

-The Haitian

Hellbound

Well, I guess Who Wants to be a Super-Villain? didn't get all of the evil out of me because you'll never guess what I just did.

I'll give you a hint: It involved killing an old friend and mentor.

Give up?

I killed an old friend and mentor! Yep, poor little Ivan. His days of Hopak dancing are no more. Though, I may still attend his funeral. He'll be buried inside a casket inside a casket inside a casket inside a casket. Such was his wishes.

But it wasn't all for nothing. He told me where I could find the set of 8 Mendes paintings I've been looking for. They were here at this company warehouse in Odessa. I don't know why I didn't think to start here. I mean, it's the company's Odessa warehouse. If paintings aren't on the wall, they're in storage, right?

Another consequence of my actions is that I pretty much sealed my fate as a truly evil person. I did it all for Claire, though! I'm serious. Protecting that little indestructible cheerleader is my obsession. It's like trying to hide an invisible man. Or trying to lose to a mind-reader in a game of What Number Am I Thinking Of? It's a lot harder than you'd think!

And if eternal damnation is the price of protecting my Claire Bear, so be it. I'd do it for any of my family memebers...well, except Logan...or Larry? Loyd? Whoever he is! Claire Bear is the important one. Save her, save the world. Sandra and that other kid are just home decor, and potential decoys (that's why I tailored a cheerleading outfit for my son).

Hell won't be too bad though. Most of my friends, and all of my enemies will be there. Maybe Thompson will hire me to work at Hell's paper company? Even Hell needs quality paper and paper products. I'll finally get to see the true love of my life again, Eden McCain. I wonder if she remembers me? It's a shame she'll be there; she was such a nice young girl. Paper is an ugly business, but somebody has to do it. She knew that going into it. And, hey! Maybe Sylar and I can play on Hell's bowling league.

Telephone Memory

The phone rang in our hotel room. Since The Haitian was still in the shower, I had to interrupt my Lifetime Original Movie to answer it.

"Hello?" I said.

The cold female voice on the other end replied, "Noah."

"Yes. Who is this?"

"Oh, you can't be serious. You poor, moronic fool."

"Angela?"

"But of course!"

"How'd you find us?"

"Oh, can it Bennet. Let me talk to The."

"The?"

"The Haitian. You two have worked together for so long, yet you still refer to him by his full name? How pedestrian!"

"The is in the shower. I'll tell him you called."

"Oh, Bennet, you certainly are quite the..."

And I hung up the phone. It was exhilarating! Far better than sex with Sandra.

(Note to Sandra: Just kidding. I love sex with you. I just wish you wouldn't insist on including Mr. Muggles.)

Finally, The Haitian came out of the restroom in a towel.

"You had a call," I said annoyed.

He ignored me.

"It was Angela Petrelli."

The Haitian started flexing his pecks, alternating between the left and right. "Watch this," he said.

"Don't change the subject! I won't be distracted by your strong, manly, dark and bouncing man-boobs again. Why did Angela call?"

"Uh..."

* * *

I woke up in my hotel room bed in a puddle of my own drool. My head ached and I felt very groggy.

The Haitian was sitting, fully dressed, at the foot of the bed watching The Fairly Odd Parents on Nickelodeon.

"Haha!" I hollered, "You watch cartoons!"

* * *

"Hey, wake up," The Haitian shook me. My vision took focus slowly. He continued, "We need to get on with our mission."

"What happened to my pants?" I asked.

"What pants?"

Who Wants to be a Super Villain?

So, The Haitian and I checked into our hotel room and started preparing for our big mission. He had to shower first, so that meant I had 3 or 4 hours to waste. Time to surf the net!

That's when I saw me, the wonderful man in horn-rimmed glasses.

Yep, it was that reality show I did a while back. I needed the prize money (I thought there was going to be prize money), so I signed on. Plus, I have a tendency toward being evil, so it was good to get it out of my system in a productive way.

Of course, I'm still evil when times call for it. Oh, well.

Anyway, tune into the reality blog show and cheer me on. I've had two posts so far:

Horn-Rimmed Villainy

Mingling Madness

Other contestants include and may be limited to:

TX - A cyborg assassin from the future.
Army of (Cl)one - A stormtrooper with a personality.
Bruce Cain - A man...uh...I really don't know what he is.
Magneto - A metal-obsessed evil-doer with a goofy helmet.
Gyrobo - A crazy little robot who invented the two party system.
Dr. Nemonok - My shrink's brain in a jar.

The judges or whatever are:

Capitan Koma - He's sort of like an evil Peter Petrelli in a purple hood.
Deadpool - I think he's like Spider-Man without the webby stuff.
Henchman 432 - Your typical stooge.
Synth-Lin - A synthetic Lindsay Lohan (I competed with her in Last Gladiator Standing 2).

Will I win? Will I be the greatest super-villain the world has ever seen? Will Mohinder and Sylar ever be reunited? Find out by watching Who Wants to be a Super-Villain!

Ukrainian Politics: Part 3

Continued from Part 2....

And then I was squished by the giant McDonald's sign and died.

Kidding. I narrowly escaped death! That's sort of my thing. I'm always narrowly escaping death, be it from Sylar, Primatech or giant McDonald's arches. Yep, nothing on Earth can kill me. Telekinesis, ha! Bullets, ha ha! Advertising, ha ha ha! Yes, I laugh in the face of my would-be killers. I'm the unstoppable man in the horn-rimmed glasses, after all.

So what really happened about the falling McDonald's sign? Well, it came crashing down around me. I remained standing safely inside the gap of the left arch. The crazy Ukrainian mob went even crazier. They started jumping up and down in excitement from having seen the symbolic fall of their corporate enemy. They yelled things like "ми переміг!" which means "we won!".

Hey, I know Ukrainian? That's odd. I guess Primatech trained me in it back in the day. All this time I thought those guys were talking gibberish.

They were so proud at the havoc they wreaked that I couldn't help joining in on the enthusiasm. I hopped around with them chanting "Boo, Ronald McDonald!" in Ukrainian.

"Haitian," I said to my companion, "You going to celebrate with us?"

"No. I am erasing this man's memory, like you asked."

"Oh, yeah. You do that."

Down the road, I could hear and see the поліцiя coming (that means police). They were whistling their whistles and waving their hands. At first, I thought they were celebrating the destruction as well. I high fived the first one to arrive.

He pulled a gun on me. I had no choice but to pull mine on him. We had a classic Ukrainian showdown on our hands.

Then the crazy mob attacked him! They just stampeded him. It was so fast, I couldn't tell what all happened, but when the cop got back to his feet, he was in nothing but his boxers and is whistle was in his ear. "Poor guy," I said.

All this hoopla was making me uneasy. I'm in the Ukraine for a top secret mission, and here I am being distracted by local struggles. I thanked the crazy mob for the entertainment and said, "поздороаляю! я залишати тепер."

They waved bye and The Haitian and I walked off, dragging Mr. Smarty Pants Ukrainian with us.

"What are we going to do with him?" The Haitian asked.

"I promised the wife I'd bring home a souvenir."

Ukrainian Politics: Part 2

Continued from Part 1...

The protesters stared at me. They could obviously tell my nationality, even before I called them loony foreigners and advised them not to mess with Texas (though they probably didn't understand a word). They could smell America on me, the unwavering patriotism pumping through my veins, the dripping sweat from a hard day's work in a commercialized dead-end job. Like primal beasts, they could smell the ferocious, yet righteous, dominance of the greatest country in the world!

"You smell like burnt cheese," one of the protesters shouted out with a heavy accent.

I sniffed myself and said, "That's no reason to protest!"

Another guy spoke up, "Ignore him. That's the only English he knows. We are protesting the globalization of American junk food franchises."

"Hey, you're kind of smart," I said. "How'd you learn those big words here in the Ukraine?"

"I studied US Politics in school."

"They have schools here?" The Haitian started coming out of the McDonald's, "Hey," I said to him, "did you know they have schools here?"

"Yes. We have them in Haiti too." He replied.

"No way! But these are third world countries!" I shot back.

"Thirdish," the Ukranian smart guy corrected. "I think you'll find that most countries you know nothing about are as civilized as yours, probably more so."

"I don't know about that. We're pretty civilized."

"Ever have a female leader?"

"Ha!" I laughed. "I said we're civilized, not brain dead."

"How's crime in your country?"

"It's doing great!" I smiled. We definitely had this snooty Ukranian beat in that area, some thanks to yours truly.

"That is a bad thing," The Haitian rained in on my parade.

"And what about health care?"

"What about it? We have it, most of the time the problem is cured or successfully ignored."

"And this is free?" he asked.

"No, but if they kill you, you can get a huge settlement!"

Suddenly, I heard a horrible sound of ripping metal. I turned to see the other protesters pushing over the giant McDonald's sign with a bulldozer.

"You!" I yelled at the smarty pants Ukranian. "Were you just distracting me this entire time so your friends could perpetrate democratic justice?"

"Yes."

I punched him in the face. "Hollow him out," I told The Haitian, "Give him a Big Mac obsession. We'll see how much he hates America when he's a fat food-addicted slob!" Then I turned to deal with the bigger problem. The protesters had nearly succeeded in destroying an icon of America's dominance: the McDonald's golden arches.

"Stop!" I yelled at them. Unfortunately, it was too late. The signpost had snapped at the bottom and the once beautiful glow went dim. The tall trademark began to plummet toward me.


"AAAAAARRRRRCH!!!!!"

TO BE CONCLUDED....

Ukrainian Politics: Part 1

This place reminds me of Claude. He may have been British, but he drank like a Ukrainian. But it does smell better, at least.

"So, uh...we're here," I said. The Haitian just stared at me. "What do we do now?"

"You're the boss."

"That I am, but this was your idea."

"Oh, yeah."

"So, what do we do?"

"I don't know."

"Why'd we come here?"

"I don't remember."

"Did you touch yourself again?"

The Haitian pointed toward a building. "There," he said.

"Wow," I replied. The glow from the bright yellow arches was mesmorizing. "They really do have McDonald's everywhere."

We went inside and walked up to the counter.

"Yak blah blee blah ta tre?" the counter man said, or so it sounded.

I turned to The Haitian and whispered, "This is why we need to require immigrants learn English before seeking employment."

"We are the immigrants."

"Ha! Funny." I turned to the counter guy. "You know, I used to be like you, minus the funny talk, before I discovered paper. See?" I pulled a picture out of my wallet and pointed at the youthful me.



"Buddha llama cha cra suzzie Q," the guy said.

"Thanks," I replied.

"He wants our order," The Haitian interrupted.

We managed to relay our order to the hairy little fellow. A few minutes later we were sitting down enjoying our bounty. The Haitian was playing with his Happy Meal toy, when I noticed a horrific sight outside. A group of people were protesting! What's worse is they were protesting The US of that other letter. If there's one thing I hate more than freedom of speech combined with assembly it's America-bashing! I slammed my fist on the table, crushing The Haitian's toy. He shed a tear. I was impressed by his patriotism for his adopted nation.

"Hey, you loony foreigners!" I shouted storming out of the McDonald's. "Don't mess with Texas!"

The protesters stared me down, and I stared right back. Things are about to get ugly, cross-cultural ugly.

TO BE CONTINUED....

Be a Cheerleader, Save your Dad

My little Claire Bear is once again one of those shallow few that get all the young boys they want. No, not a priest. She's a cheerleader! An overly-enthused frolicker full of school spirit. Luckily for me, she won't get any young boys. Sure, there will be many staring at her panties as she jumps up and down to help the football team win. But starers won't shoot me!

I'm fully protected by my fool-proof plan.

"Guess what, honey?"

"A salad fork?" my wife replied holding Mr. Muggles.

"No! Even better. Claire won't date boys. She made me a deal."

"Oh, no!" She started crying. "My little girl is a lesbian! I knew she was too smart to be a cheerleader. She was only drawn by the enticing aroma of locker room possibilities. I've been there myself many years ago."

"Sure you don't mean eons?" I asked.

"What?"

"Nothing." I touched her arm gently. Mr. Muggles growled at me. "It's not that. I made her choose between cheerleading or boys. She took cheerleading."

Mr. Muggles started to whine. Sandra patted his little head and said, "And you believed her? You seriously know nothing about women!"

"I know they can be fixed with double fudge brownies and ice cream."

She glared. "No girl would take cheerleading over boys. I mean, look at me! I chose you over mental health."

"Oh," I said, pensively stepping away.

Mr. Muggles started licking Sandra's ear as she continued to talk. "She lied to you. I wonder which one of us she gets that from?"

"I see." I flopped down on the sofa and rested my face in my hands. Could I have been so blind? Do I need metaphorical glasses? I looked up at Sandra and said, "My God, you could be right!"

She started licking Mr. Muggles. "Of course I'm right. Mr. Muggles whispered the truth in my ear. He's always right. He so smart! Aren't you, Mr. Muggles? Yes, you are! You are smart! Woofy, woofy smart!"

Dateless Claire Bear

Well, good news! My future death looks to be prevented. So I won't be needing my coffin:



That's a good thing. Death would end a very important part of my life, and it seems costly. I don't die though; I'm Mr. Benn..uh..Butler. Cunning. Ingenious. Handsome. Paperific! Death would have to be a finely-tuned killing machine to take me down...like a ninja or something. A Mexican ninja. Now, that would be a challenge.



But I could take him! I once killed an invisible man, ya know...well, so the story goes.

So, I'm not at all worried about this so-called prophecy. I may not have a super power, but I'm a Hero, like those mythological kinds...like Oedipus or something...and Heroes don't die. They can't die.

My fool-proof anti-prophecy life-plan is to hyphenate like a radical wheat monkey and not let Claire date. I've succeeded in both! Why can't Claire date? I'm sure you pervs are crushed, and quite frankly you're the main reason. (Yes, you!) But the not main reason, and probably more main in actuality, is that the killer was kissing her in the painting:



Now, I've long been against public displays of affection. The only thing worse than seeing a couple making out is being shot in the eye by them. Luckily, if Claire has no boyfriend, then this mysterious Claire-kisser can't harm me or my glasses. I'm safe!

Artistic Fright

I don't like heroin addicts, never have. They paint too much. Other than being superfluous, art is highly unnecessary.

Before his death, Isaac "I'm High, Dawg" Mendez, painted several so-called masterpieces. The problem with his art is its unrealistic style. I mean, if I wanted to see comic-life drawings, I'd read the funny pages. But the other problem is the paintings are prophetic.

If Oedipus has taught us anything it is to be careful with the relationship between you and your mother. That's why I didn't get too close to mine; in fact it took me years to discover she had died. Oedipus also teaches us that you can't stop prophecy. I know. I've tried. Homecoming taught me a vicious lesson in prophecy and in pointless teenage culture. Fortunately the prophecy was misread.

This new painting can't be misread. Horn-rimmed glasses aren't like cheerleader outfits. This look of mine is one in a million. I'm not just any blonde bimbo, like my little Claire Bear and Jackie. Unfortunately my good looks prove that this prophecy is my death, or at least the loss of my left eye, which happens to be my favorite. (Stupid right eye!)

This is a prophecy I have to stop! But my extensive knowledge of mythology and literature make it obvious what will happen. My efforts to stop the prophecy will lead into its realization.

My first thought when I saw this painting was, "Oh, no! That's the shirt I'm wearing right now!" I wanted to rip it off and burn it, but I realized that by doing so, I would be trying to stop the prophecy, and it would come true. The minute I would have clenched the fabric to start tearing it off of me, I'd be shot. So I kept my shirt on.

Mohinder, however, was less calm.

"This recent artistic revelation has me feeling rather uneasy, a tad bit precarious."

"This changes nothing," I said.

"You have on more than one occasion implied that my own safety, my very well-being, perhaps even my life, was proportionately linked to your own perpetual animation."

"You'll be fine, Doctor." I tried to calm him. "We stick with the plan."

"I fear your approaching demise has itself limited my own existence."

"Well, yeah...there is that."

"In circumstances such as these, when my liveliness is in jeopardy, being threatened by the turmoil of social evolution, one can only incur an instinctual necessitation to protect Mohinder."

"It's prophecy, Suresh. You're Hindu or something, right? You of all people should know that when Jesus says something's gonna happen, that's how it'll be. You can't stop the Buddha from falling out of the Bodhi Tree."

"It is not the prophecy with which I have this cause for concern. Your death has been a fantasy of mine many times in the past. However, now it would have a rather unpleasant side effect, that being my own death. Something must be done to ensure my safety after your inescapable end."

"Alrighty, Mohinder. I'll get back to you on that." I hung up the phone.

Haitian Games

The Haitian came bearing good news and bacon bits. He managed to obtain a bootlegged copy of Halo 3 while vacationing, or whatever he was doing, in Haiti.

"To the Bat Cave!" I shouted. The two of us ran to the Copy Kingdom back room where we had a TV and Xbox 360.

The Haitian was disappointed. "This is no Bat Cave."

I had to do some quick alterations to the Xbox to get around the licensing check some evil company man must have installed. After that, it was smooth sailing.

"You're going down!" I said to The Haitian.

"We are playing Cooperative Mode."

"I'm still going to win."

Then the manager walked in. "Butler! This is a violation of several store policies. First, no playing video games unless on break. Second, no friends in the back, especially..." he glanced at The Haitian, "...Black ones. We don't want to be robbed!"

The Haitian threw bacon bits in his face. "I am not Black. I am Haitian."

"Hollow him out!" I said. It felt so good giving that order again.

The Haitian took care of my boss and we started playing the game again, in peace. I blasted away alien scum all over the place! Aliens stand no chance against my robotic-like gaming capabilities. This is almost just like what I used to do as a living. They should have named it "Halo 3: Paper salesman of the Year".

Unfortunately, aliens have tanks! Dastardly evil tanks. I've been blown up more times than Mohinder's last girlfriend. (What I mean is she was a suicide bomber, not what you're thinking.) It looks like we'll be on this level a while. I've tried shooting the tank, grenading the tank, jumping on the tank...nothing worked. The Haitian even tried suppressing its ability, but it was no use!

I probably won't blog for a while as The Haitian and I have a very important mission: Destroy that tank!

(Strategy Suggestions are appreciated, but don't get snobby.)

The Fate of Douglas the Guppy

Well, my last post I told you about the fish I once had and my efforts to find him after he was lost. I suppose I should finish up that tale.

You see, posting his picture on the back of a milk carton was a good start. I knew that would get the word out, and someone would respond if they had seen them. I mean, people in my household were always drinking milk. The late Mama Bennet was a big fan of cats, and growing up, I had quite a few. Cats need a steady flow of milk.

Speaking of pets, I have to say that they are all overrated. My mom had cats, and look how she turned out. Dead! And my wife has a dog and she's slightly retarded. Then there's Lyle. Since he has no super power like my Claire Bear does, he's pretty much a pet. And he's worthlesser than Muggles!

But perhaps my loathing of pets began with Douglas the Guppy. Though I did not loath him, in fact I adored that guppy, his fate tore my little, innocent heart to pieces. I picked up the milk carton and was about to put it back in the refrigerator when I saw this:


Oh, Douglas! Why did you have to leave me? There isn't a day goes by that I am not reminded of him and his guppy-like ways: swimming around, being underwater, acting all fishy. He was a good fish.

After the loss of Douglas, I filled my life with a new pet. A pet that would never die, for it was already a dead tree. And there was an endless supply of it. Yes, Paper! If you must have a pet, I suggest you go with paper.

I Had a Fish Once

I was watching TV. It's something I do when I'm not busy weaving a web of deceit. A fish came on the screen. The fish swam onto the screen full of excitement. He dashed up and down, doing somersaults and drinking a martini while floating on its back. Needless to say, this was no ordinary fish! Aside from the fact it was animated, I noticed something peculiar about it, something...unnatural.

The fish had a hand shaped fin! Yes, that's right. It's fin had finger-like appendages at the end, even a thumb!

An eerie feeling poured into my soul. This fish is becoming human, I thought. It was like that taxi driver said, "All creatures are inherently destined, preordained by the gods themselves, to venture forth through evolutionary progression in search for the ultimate, and most beneficial, chromosomal tools of survival." I fell asleep after that first sentence. But I remember his words resonating inside my mind as I dreamed of origami swans electing me the King of Paper Land. Mohinder woke me up, "Mr. Bennet. We have at long last arrived at your dwelling. The fee for my transporation service totals to twelve dollars and eleven cents."

I was annoyed to awake realizing my dream to be so distant from the reality I found stepping outside his cab. I handed the professor a ten dollar bill. "Keep the change," I said.

He began talking, no doubt another philosophical rant, as I went inside my home, never thinking about those words we used to put me to sleep...until now.

Mohinder's words were not the only memories reawakened by this deformed cartoon fish. It brought back painful memories of my childhood friend and loyal companion, Douglas the Guppy.

One day, I came home to find Douglas the Guppy missing from his bowl. "Dougie!" I called out. There was no reply. Where could he have gone?

I checked the garage, thinking maybe he took the car out for a spin. But the Nissan was there, untouched. I looked all over my room for him, thinking he may have gotten lost in the clutter. But there was no fish to be found anywhere!

So, it became time to raise the alert level. I headed to the kitchen and opened up the refrigerator. I pulled out the milk carton and quickly filed a missing persons report on its backside:


Even to this day, I don't know what has become of poor Douglas. Perhaps one day I'll be reunited with him. Perhaps he now has opposable thumbs. Let's just hope he's not forced into doing animated TV ads to get by.

Whoomp, There He Is

Recent events can best be summed up by an exert from a poem I first heard back during my company days:

Tag Team back again check it top
Wreck it - let's begin
Party people let me hear some noise
DC's in the house jump jump and rejoice
There's a party over here
a party over there
Wave your hands in the air
Shake the derriere

Whoomp, there he is! The Haitian is finally back in my possession, an occasion truly deserving of ample derriere-shaking. Now the party can begin. Together we'll cause so much short-term memory loss it'll make Animal House's toga party look like a meeting of a quilt club. No party is complete without wide-reaching memory gaps. I rate all my parties based no the crazy stuff I can't remember doing, and let me tell you, soon, Primatech is going to have a killer party!

Of course we couldn't go right into bagging and tagging like the good ol' days. There was so much catching up to do.

"So, what have you been up to, my friend?" I asked him.

"..." he stared at me blankly.

"Oh, don't give me that again! I know you can talk."

"Oh, yeah. Sorry," he said. "I have just been working in the shipping business until I got deathly ill."

"Well, I see you still have a flair for dressing exquisitely."

"Thank you. I see you still have a flair for boring paper stuff."

"It is my passion. So did you catch Saturday Night Live over the weekend?"

"No. In Haiti, I do not have cable. I was too ill to watch it anyway, though they say laughter is the best medicine."

"SNL wouldn't have helped, then. It's for the best you missed it."

Then a customer walked into Copy Kingdom looking as though he just escaped prison. "Yo, man!" he hollered at me, "I needs me some invitations for my girl's birthday party."

I called for Mike to help him out, but the guy noticed The Haitian and said, "Hey, man! When did you get out?"

"..."

"Sorry," I said to the man, "he doesn't speak."

"Aw, no way! They do that to you in the joint?"

"..."

"Oh, yeah, you don't talk, huh?" The man looked at me, "They do that to him in the joint?"

"He's never been in prison," I answered.

"Right, man. Whatever." Across the store I noticed a uniformed police officer watching the man carefully. The man noticed him too. "Hey, man, I gots to run. Nice seeing you D.L." and the man left the store.

The Haitian looked annoyed. "Why do people always think I'm D.L.?" he asked.

"It's probably the eyes," I answered, trying to avoid awkward racial tension. I added, "I think he's dead, though."

"Is he?"

"I think so. I could care less, but I guess you know that about me."

He laughed. "Yeah, you never were one to care about the well-being of others."

The conversation continued on for what seemed like hours. The Haitian had done so much in four months, he even had a Brazilian wax. Aside from having to put up with constant boasting about his totally hairless body, having The Haitian back has been great. I can't wait to start up our devious ways again. Hmm...Who can we hollow out first?

Makin' Copies

Ah, Copy Kingdom. It isn't much, but it pays the bills (which mostly consists of beauty products for Mr. Muggles).

I've been at this job for a while now and despite the mundanity, it is rather enjoyable. I made a pinky promise with my boss, or I guess I nearly broke his pinky, and so now he doesn't bother me. Which is good because there's a lot of work to be done!

My name may be Mr. Butler now, but I'm still the man in the horn-rimmed glasses; and that means I can't be a total bore and work a pointless 8 to 5 job like you probably are. I need action. I need mystery. I need secrets. And I could use a Haitian (Has anyone seen him?).

My good friend, and by good friend I mean person I decided not to bag and tag, and I have a plan. I did most of the thinking. Between the two of us, most people would think he'd be the brains, but his philosophical fiddle-farting gets us nowhere. I am a born leader. And thanks to me, Mohinder and I will soon bring down the company!

Step one is to infiltrate Primatech. I used Mohinder as bait. I'm actually getting really good at using people. Soon Mohinder will be deep inside the organization.

Step two takes advantage of my new job. Since I enjoy a nice lack of supervision now, I have a lot of free time on my hands. And this time is spent plotting! Here's my plotter:


Step three takes advantage of my plotting. I take the poster that I printed out and copy it. I do one copy every two hours and thirteen minutes, so I don't attract attention. Soon I'll have a ton of copies and I'll mail them to Suresh disguised as research materials. He'll take these posters and plaster them all around his place of employment. The posters will have a drastic effect on the company men and women. Their morale will plummet. They'll lose the very will to live. And the company will crumble!

If you happen to be an employee of the company, or know someone who is, and would like to help out, you can. Just print out the poster below and post it everywhere people tend to look, like the backs of bathroom stall doors or Peter's hair. You can even post them where people don't look, like the CBS Evening News or on your local marching band.

Here's the poster: