by Sheldon Woodbury

People of Earth, I command you to bow down and worship me like the sniveling ants you are, or I’m going to unleash a raging storm of badass destruction that will fry your puny little planet. You’ll beg for mercy, but none will come, only more sizzling bolts of cosmic fire and zapping terror from the skies above. This I proclaim on this fateful day.

 The worried parents stared down at these words scribbled on a wrinkled sheet of paper.

“I think it’s the comic books,” his therapist said.

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