It has been a slow summer for evildoing and general mischief-making. Much to my chagrin, that contemptible harpy Mother Nature has made the process of formulating a delicate plot a difficult task, what with her incessant heat and reluctance to deliver even a single drop of precipitation. Seriously, my butterfly garden is a frightful shame--it's embarrassing to have company over when it's in such shambles. And of course it's been hell trying to fund any worthwhile endeavors. Do you think it is cheap to air-condition a secret hideout in an active volcano when it is already 90 degrees outside? I assure you, it is not. And let us not discuss the price of distilled petroleum! I can't even send the henchmen out for donuts and bedlam without emptying the coffers to keep the Kato Wagons running.

Plus there was the unfortunate incident with the HK Virus earlier this year. That set my nefarious plans back at least a whole month, not to mention dangerously depleting our supply of facial tissues and hand-sanitizer. I had to shut down operations for at least a week just to wipe down all the equipment. Have you ever looked at a Death Ray control panel under a microscope? Dear god, it's a microorganism jamboree!

Speaking of which, the Death Ray has been more a source or consternation than of mirth. Originally I planned to threaten the nations of the world with it, demanding of them some ludicrous and un-payable ransom in exchange for not blowing up their miserable national landmarks. Of course I would have done it anyway, even if they had paid--I have a reputation to uphold. But then, on the eve of my devious plan's execution, I received a summons to the Court of Nefarious Deeds sent by the Guild of Calamitous Intent. It would seem that the Storm Bringer (a hotheaded egomaniac if you ask me) demanded an injunction against my use of the Death Ray! The nerve! His claim was that, as the de facto bringer of storms, he is the only guild member allowed to rain down destruction from the heavens! Something about infringing on his evil trademarks or other such hogwash. I clearly explained to the tribunal that it is a Death Ray--it deals out death. It's not like I built a giant lightening gun or an evil sno-cone machine. It probably didn't help that I called the Storm Bringer a whiny little weather-bitch. Long story short, I can't use the aforementioned ray of death in an instance when it "could be perceived as a destructive force emanating from the sky or associated with the destructive force of nature's fury." Well, what's the freakin' point of having it, then? I honestly don't know why I keep paying my guild dues. I guess it's the need to see my handsome visage gracing the pages of the monthly newsletter some day. In a flattering light, that is. I wasn't thrilled about them naming me "Most Likely To Wind Up Dead In A Hotel Room Watching Pornography" in last month's "Who's hot? Who's not?" issue.

Ever vigilante and faced with an abundance of time on my hands awaiting the fall season of Desperate Housewives, I set my superior intellect on my latest brilliant scheme. This one is so ingenious it will earn me Villain of the Year for certain. In a laboratory deep below Mt. Kato, next to the break room and down the hall from the roller disco, I thumbed my nose at evolution itself! Through a recombinant gene process known only to myself, Dick Clark, and the Raelians (who knew?), I was able to grow, if you will, a specimen with which to carry out a dastardly plan.

I carefully extracted samples from various species: the South American Hypnotic Frog of Guyana, the Albino Wooly Bear Caterpillar of the Upper Great Lakes Region, and the David Crosby of, well, The Byrds and Crosby, Still, and Nash (and Young). The samples were placed in my genetic splicer known fondly as the Blend-A-Tron and then transferred to our EZ-DNA Oven for recombination. When all was said and done, the genetic code for a new species had been created, which when implanted in an ovum would develop into an organism expressing select traits from each of its donors. The process was completed successfully. Behold, my diabolical creation: The Hypnostache!

My detractors did, of course, laugh at such a creation, for they could not comprehend the true genius behind it. You see, I have created an organism that resembles little more than a somewhat out of place bushy white moustache! In addition to nearly seamlessly blending in on the face of anyone I choose (with the side benefit of confusing predatory birds), the Hypnostache excretes a powerful mind control toxin that quickly enters the bloodstream and puts its wearer under my total control! Imagine the chaos I could sew!

But the process of creating such a specimen is complicated and the raw materials scarce, thus I could only produce a handful of these adorable little lip warmers. Besides, unleashing a horde of them on the general public would seem suspicious. No, I would achieve world domination through a gradual process. Delay gratification, dear Kato, delay gratification.

Obviously the most benefit would be seen by introducing my Hypnostache to an unsuspecting public figure. The music industry was my first choice, being rife with self-important individuals easily brainwashed to begin with. The younger generation is too apathetic to be useful (other than perhaps as slaves in a chain of McKato's fast food restaurants) and would probably be too caught up in their InterWeb, 32-bit consoles, and bong hits to really notice something was happening anyway. No, the older generation holds all the power. I would need to speak to them through a trusted voice, a voice whose smooth adult contemporary music is soulful and yet non-threatening.

I would need to enlist the services of Michael Bolton.

Unfortunately, there were some scheduling conflicts and it didn't work out. I called his agent and was like, "Hey, I'd really like to do a collab with Michael" and his agent was like, "Well, when's good for you?" and I said, "How about Thursday?" and he said, "Thursday is booked, what about next Monday?" and I said, "Monday doesn't work I'm having the laboratory fumigated," and he said, "Tuesday, then?" and Tuesday looked good, but then it turned out that Michael had a charity gig for bald orphans or something, so I suggested mid-August and he said that August wouldn't work, but maybe early September. Anyway, his agent said he'd get back to me but I didn't have time to wait. I would have to find another patsy.

I racked my brain trying to come up with another likely candidate. I'm sure my original choice wasn't too far off the mark, but maybe I wasn't thinking on a grand enough scale. I mean, certainly Michael Bolton's sway over the population would be nearly insurmountable, but even with the people following the orders of my dutiful puppet, what real power would I wield? No, I would need to find someone with connections to those truly in power. With my Hypnostache firmly in control, I would elevate this individual into an office from which he might make decision that would affect the entire globe! Though the henchmen will be disappointed at not getting free concert tickets.

This person would have to be a rough and tumble sort, with a dubious background. Someone I could manipulate. Someone outspoken, with a penchant for making damning and downright ludicrous statements without giving it a second thought, that way my by-proxy demands would seem natural, and almost reasonable by comparison. But I had already filled out an index card in my Rolodex under 'B' for 'Bolton' so I was hoping I wouldn't have to do much more additional work in finding a stooge. Have you ever tried to get one of those things in the little grooves? Geeze, it's like putting pieces in some kind of office supply jigsaw puzzle! And then, inspiration struck.

Ladies and gentlemen of the United States, please welcome your new ambassador to the United Nations...

...Mr. John Bolton.

The moustache means business.