Once again it has been some time since I last updated my conquest blog. This absence of activity can logically be attributed to a lack of recent accomplishments. One of my most valuable servants has recently sustained heavy injury at the hands of zombified bears, and I have been forced to focus my attention on the lair’s upkeep and insuring that my vassal recovers in a timely fashion so as not to further inconvenience me. (Yes, you may say it. I am a truly benevolent overlord.)
The undead ursine outbreak couldn’t have happened at a worse time as I have recently been, shall I say, “volunteering” at a local mental health clinic. I was mislead to believe that the facility would provide me with a fresh diagnosis for my particular genius. They were however unqualified to issue a professional diagnosis, but the word “psychotic” had escaped the lips of one of the employees (and was quickly followed by, “My god! No! Please stop! Please! I take it back! Please! No! NO! I beg you! AHHHHH!” which may or may not have been a psychological term describing Thanatophobia.)
While they were unhelpful in regards to defining for me what it is that makes me so great (I will settle for “rugged good-looks” if I can’t find a second opinion) they were able to provide me with some small matters of insight pertaining to the few barriers I still face on my way to global domination.
While I am in no way denying that my intellect stretches far beyond the veil of cognitive conscious… -itude… there was a time, believe it or not, when I was in many ways smarter than I am today (by a standardized academic definition at any rate.) My ability to learn and retain information has dwindled over the years. Memory, concentration, memory; have all suffered at the hands of some unquantifiable foe. I now believe I understand the culprit behind my not-smart-no-more-ness.
BRAIN POISONING!
Yes, my faithful followers. My brain has been poisoned… by MYSELF!
This isn’t any old metaphorical “brain poisoning” as suggested by advocates against video games, comic books, and Chevy Chase. Oh no, this poisoning is real.
As it turns out, hyperventilating in the case of extreme stress and anxiety causes a deregulation in oxygen or something something whatever. Carbon dioxide gets stored up in the brain along with the FDA approved oxygen it requires, and brain cells begin to suffocate and die horrible agonizing deaths. Brain cells that are lost are unable to grow back. While it isn’t exactly comforting to know that every time I become emotionally distraught my brain withers like an old piece of fruit, it is added incentive to bottle up my surplus of negative emotions (this way instead of a slow painful death while I watch everything I hold dear slip away from me and become obscured by dementia, I will continue along my present path unabated until the day I spontaneously combust in one big glorious ball of inner turmoil that could level a small country given twenty years of suppression. I am my own doomsday device.)
It seems like there was something else I learned, but I don’t remember it. Something about people and how I don’t have anyone other than my therapist to really confide in, which is unfortunate as it’s nearly impossible to reach her in a time of emotional crisis. They were probably just trying to get me to trust them so they could discover my weakness and exploit it. People can't be trusted. I’m much better off learning how to deal with my feelings without assistance. I’ve been doing a great job so far. (*cough*)
I am trying to re-formulate my strategy for success. Impatience has been known to foil 99.99% of evil overlords, but I need an empire and I need it yesterday! (Yes, I’m getting desperate enough that time-travel is being taken into consideration, and I HATE time-travel.) My literary works aren’t going to be completed within a reasonable period of time, and there are too many downsides to sitting around locked in my chamber alone to risk focusing my efforts on them. Voice acting seems to be the most viable use of my talents. Unfortunately I know nothing of “the business.” There is one thing I’ve been noticing by following the exploits of my heroes (most recently M. Bison of Shadowloo): they all have a complex network of connections, but it’s never established how they were… established. I am at a severe disadvantage as I am unable to sustain my polite, energetic, intelligent behavior. There are any number of circumstances that cause me to cease functioning in an ideal manner. If I am able to be myself in the presence of someone who could potentially influence my chosen profession then I can almost guarantee that they will at the least like me enough to thrown in a good word to a guy who knows a guy. Many people do not get the opportunity to be graced by my true glorious self however, and instead see a quiet simpering fool struggling to hold back his screams of fear and hopelessness. This is what must be remedied, but the best remedy is a purposeful life of accomplishment. I fear I cannot achieve my goals until I have become the master of my mind and body, and in order to do that I must my goals. The endless cycle known as “Catch-22” rolls on as I am left behind wondering, as the kids say (out loud), “WTF?”
Some day my dreams will come true. In the meantime I have a cat box to clean.
Pathos and goodwill,
Lord Veltha
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