It is drawing near to the second anniversary of my glorious dictatorship of your pathetic planet! It’s a time of great reflection – by which I’m not referring to the GREAT REFLECTION I see in the mirror – of MYSELF! C’mon, people, that was a joke! Just because I robbed you of all your freedoms and made you my slaves doesn’t mean I robbed you of a sense of humor… excluding those of you I lobotomized. So c’mon, laugh a little. THAT WASN’T A SUGGESTION!

What gives, people? I take over your planet, I make you all my slaves, I make your hottest daughters my concubines, and I’m still not good enough for you! I live in a giant fortress – on a mountain – that’s hovering two hundred feet above a lake of lava – that’s populated by Fire Sharks! Doesn’t that impress any of you? What do you live in, a crammed concrete cell in the residential prison zone? Oh yeah, that’s real impressive – NOT! Where do you get off being so conceited?

So either I’ve completely crushed your spirits to the point that you’ve forsaken all emotion and all will to live… or you’ve hatched up some new scheme to get on my nerves! Just for that I’m PUNISHING YOU ALL with this new and arbitrary set of rules to live by, which I’ve just made up now off the top of my head!

Behold, Dr. Monster’s Ten Demandments:

1. GROVEL LIKE YOU MEAN IT
So much of your groveling is weak and uninspired. Now I know most of that is due to dehydration and malnutrition, but that doesn’t mean you can’t inject a little razzmatazz into your groveling routines. You folks just don’t realize importance of good groveling. It goes a long way in making me feel appreciated.

Speaking of feeling appreciated I’d just like to comment on my lavish birthday celebration last week. Frankly, it was lacking. Not nearly enough pyrotechnics, dancing robots, strippers, or dancing robot strippers. And the much-ballyhoo’d Bear vs. Shark cage match? Not as awesome as I’d hoped. I wanted a Grizzly bear, not a mangy old Russian circus bear. And I wanted a Great White Shark, not a Basking Shark. They eat krill. They don’t even have teeth! I would’ve settled for a Fire Shark. Worst. Birthday. Ever.

2. GIVE ME COMPLIMENTS, EVEN IF YOU DON’T MEAN IT
Remember that time I forced everyone to build me a giant planet-crushing space laser? I blew up the moon with that laser, just because I could. It was awesome! But obviously not awesome enough for any of you to give me a congratulatory high-five, thumbs up, or thank you card. Not even a “Hey man, thanks for blowing up the moon and all! You’re the coolest dictator ever. Here, have my 18-year old daughter!” Nothing! I have very low self-esteem and sense of self worth, so I’m really sensitive to these sorts of things.

The Moon Exploding

I’m the most powerful and most famous person on the planet, so how come I don’t have a fan club? I’m hereby ordering the creation of the Dr. Monster Fan Club. And you all have to join! And you all have to send me cards and letters telling me how awesome and magnanimous I am! Or else! It would really boost my self-esteem!

3. DON’T MAKE EYE CONTACT WITH ME
Unless told to do so. Even then it might just be a total psyche-out so I’ll have an excuse to execute you. Man, I love makin’ up rules!

4. JUST REMEMBER, I’M YOUR LEADER
When you support insurgent groups like the Freedom Force Five, it makes me feel inadequate. It’s really damaging to my self-esteem.

The Freedom Force Five

5. SCREAMING AND RUNNING AWAY FROM ME IN TERROR IS PERFECTLY ACCEPTABLE BEHAVIOR – UNLESS I ARBITRARILY DECIDE TO HAVE YOU EXECUTED FOR IT
It makes me feel like a big shot. Soiling yourself in fear is even better. Just don’t make a mess on the floor. Or else!

6. WHEN I DEMAND YOU TO SEND ME YOUR VIRGIN DAUGHTERS WHAT I REALLY MEAN IS FOR YOU TO SEND ME YOUR ATTRACTIVE DAUGHTERS
I cannot stress this enough.

7. AT DR. MONSTER’S OLYMPIC GAMES, THERE’S ONLY 1 RULE: I WIN EVERY EVENT
I don’t want a repeat of the last games. Man, it made me feel bad. The losing, that is. Not the execution of the winners. That part actually made me feel great. This rule also applies to Dr. Monster’s Academy Awards, Dr. Monster’s People’s Choice Awards, and Dr. Monster’s Little Miss Rhode Island Beauty Pageant.

8. WHERE’S MY FUCKING TIME MACHINE?
Okay, I guess this doesn’t really count as a Demandment, but I’ve been waiting for like two years now! So the scientists say time travel is impossible? Does it look like I give a gosh-darn-dang?!

How else am I supposed to live my boyhood dream of defeating the Roman Empire with an army of MECHS? It would be just like playing Civilization II on Cheat Mode! Only for real! SOOOOO AWESOME!

9. LAUGH AT MY JOKES
Laugh like your life depends on it. ‘Cause it does. My 10 PM prime time comedy/variety show is floundering in the ratings. Am I gonna have to move back to the 11:30 timeslot?

10. BE MY FRIEND
Seriously, guys, I know I can come off a bit strong. Heck, I might even come across as a bit of a bully. But being grand dictator of Earth is just so gosh darned lonely. Nobody wants to hang out with me unless I pay them to. And that just makes me feel even lonelier. If you could all just find a place in your hearts for the little dictator nobody wanted, then I know that we could…what am I saying? Be my friend or else! It’s not like you have much of a choice.

I hereby end this transmission.

I’m bored! Let’s see who’d win a fight: a Fire Shark or a Laser Bear…

Fire Shark vs. Laser Bear: Greatest Decisive Battle on Earth!

Dear Dr. Monster,

This is in regards to the behavior of your son Lucifer (AKA Lucky) in my class. To put it bluntly, the other kids are terrified of him. After losing the class president election to Billy Balantine, Lucky seized power in a violent coup. I’m pretty sure the type of wedgie inflicted on poor Billy is outlawed by the Geneva Convention. He may never pee standing up again. When Lucky learned about all the extra work required of him as class president, he imposed his chores on the class, including myself, under punishment of torture. I don’t know how many more electro-shocks my testicles can withstand!

At the last Show and Tell (meaning the final Show and Tell, because the district school board has since banned it as a result) young Lucky demonstrated your newly developed Disintegration Ray. On his fellow students. By the way, it only took the parents a week to realize you’d replaced their kids with water clones. They dissolved in the rainstorms of Hurricane Jeremy, which scientists believe to be the result of your quest to “prove Al Gore right” about global warming.

In science class, using various chemicals, Lucky created a pan-dimensional portal, unleashing an onslaught of DOOM-like hell beasts on my classroom. I’d really appreciate it if you’d come and seal the portal. My makeshift barricade of spare desks and textbooks doesn’t seem to be working. And the constant attacks by giant man-eating arachnids are distracting my students from learning.

The other staff at Opa-Locka Elementary pretty much let Lucky do whatever he wants out of fear. When I stood up to him he shot me with something called a “Paralyzer Death Ray.” Do you have any idea how hard it is to teach a class of brain-dead water clones when you can only communicate through a series of blinks?! You can rest assured I won’t press any charges since I’ve regained most bodily functions. However, it’d be nice if you could at least pay to replace my colostomy bag. It has a huge gaping hole burned into it from the last time a giant spider spit acid at me.

I feel I say this with some authority when I state that Lucky’s anti-social behavior may be the result of bad parenting. After all, I did take an elective course on psychology at Opa-Locka Community College. Not to incur your unholy wrath—dear God that’s the last thing I’d want— but you haven’t exactly been the greatest role model to your youngin’.

Opa-Locka just hasn’t been the same ever since your flying mountain fortress touched down in the outskirts of our fair community. Especially since the impact force of the mountain’s landing triggered an earthquake that leveled half the town. You immediately declared your mountain its own sovereign nation with you serving as supreme chancellor and ambassador, granting you diplomatic immunity to commit your unspeakable atrocities.

When the US military threatened your sovereignty, did you really have to use nukes? They only sent a few tanks and light infantry. Just a tad overkill methinks. We really don’t appreciate the fallout. It made all the milk taste funny and it ruined the town’s annual Peek-A-Tweet Bird Watching Festival. But strangely enough, it completely eliminated the town’s homeless problem.

Truth be told, this town already has a megalomaniacal mad scientist plotting our doom from his precipice-laden lair—the venerable Artemis Webster.

Opa-Locka has a long and proud tradition of being terrorized by his murderous machinations. I met my dear wife Milly in the trauma ward after Webster’s infamous “Tides of March” tsunami in ’98. The disaster rendered her a paraplegic and therefore unattractive to her usual alpha male suitors—but it also made that former hottie-turned-damaged-goods totally within my league! Thank you, Artemis Webster, for initiating my sex life!

Webster was here first. Go find yourself another town. Artemis Webster may be a despicable homicidal misanthrope but he’s OUR despicable homicidal misanthrope. This town isn’t big enough for two. No, seriously. Your turf war has increased the town’s mortality rate by 40%.

I seem to have gone off-topic, but then again decreased mental capacity was one of the side effects of the Paralyzer Ray.

To make a long story less long, I’ve given up on trying to teach your young hellion of an offspring of a son. I recommend home school, private school, reform school, military school, prison school, clown school or any other school at which I am not employed. It would be the best thing for my class, my school, and most importantly, my testicles.

Best regards,

Mr. Hinkler

P.S. Are you ever going to release the hostages you took during your war of independence/nuclear holocaust? I’d really like to see my wife again some day. The town would really like its women back. Surely you don’t need THAT many concubines?

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My fellow slaves—Oops, I mean, MY slaves,

The past year since I gained complete and utter control of your pathetic planet has been one of great suffering and great enjoyment. Great enjoyment, on my part, of your suffering, that is!

The first great project in my massive Global Slavery Program was forcing all of you to build me a giant space laser, the Über Planet-Smasher Death Beam of Death. With it I destroyed the Moon, headquarters of my mortal enemies, the Freedom Force 5. Curse them and their fresh-faced Sears catalogue good looks!

The explosion was AWESOME! The fact that radioactive Moon debris has done considerable damage to the planet’s ecology—and human health—is a small price to pay for my personal enjoyment. While the giant radioactive insects created by the Moon debris are resistant to my Mind-Control Laser Beam, they will soon be under my control—to use against you for my own amusement!

Unfortunately some members of the Freedom Force 5 escaped the lunar explosion in their Astro TransforMECH. Among those were Rusty, the red-spandexed Freedom Fighter and illegitimate son #23, Skylar, the pink Freedom Fighter and former concubine #BFJ72306, as well as their mentor, my arch nemesis and half-brother, Master Zxaxxdar. And Sparks, the adorable RoboPooch. They are believed to be hiding out on Mars, possibly conspiring an Earth invasion with the fabled Underground Martian civilization.

I therefore order the immediate construction of a new planetary laser to destroy Mars and my attractive foes. Sure I could just use the old laser, but where’s the fun in that? People go up against mad scientists with planet destroying lasers all the time, but no one would be stupid enough to go against a mad scientist with TWO planet destroying lasers! Now I can finally destroy two planets at once!

Many of you are concerned about the high slave mortality rate. Look at it from my perspective: YOU’RE SLAVES! Not legally persons. Completely expendable. Plus birth rates traditionally increase when a species is under pressure. It’s a survival mechanism. If one of you dies—why am I saying “if”?—WHEN one of you dies, I have plenty more to replace you. Your petitions do nothing! Except hasten your trip to the Death Camps.

I’d also like to take this moment to remind the humans who avoided my tyranny by fleeing under the earth that you still owe me back taxes. To you Under-Dwellers, Mole Men, and whatever else you freeloaders are calling yourselves, I hereby warn you that my army of DeathBots/tax collectors will get me my money. I’d also like to warn the planet that the reprogramming of the DeathBots into tax collectors has had some minor-to-catastrophic glitches. The phrase “as sure as death and taxes” now takes on a much more literal meaning. The only solution is to overpay your taxes until the robots stop killing you. You may think this cruel and unreasonable but I like to think of it as paying a “Living Tax.”

It’s Spring (at least according to my Weather Machine) and that means it’s time for my Semi-Annual Audition for New Wives and Concubines. As always, no fatties and butterfaces. My floating Über-Palace only has room for a harem of 1200 women and barely legal teens. So send in your audition videos! To those of you who aren’t accepted, both you and your families will be summarily purged to ensure future generations of hotties. To those of you who are accepted, you, your families, and loved ones will be allowed to live. Until I change my mind. Ladies, let me remind you that auditioning is MANDATORY.

My birthday is just around the corner. And as a gift to myself I am hereby ordering you slaves to construct me a time machine. I’d use it to travel back in time to beat the shit out of the Roman Empire with my army of GIANT MECHS! Let’s see you conquer this, Caesar! It’ll be totally balls-to-the-wall awesome! Just like playing Civilization II on Cheat Mode!

Finally, I would also like to announce an upcoming election for Supreme Ruler of Planet Earth. Just to keep things democratic I am allowing other candidates to run against me. However those candidates and those who vote for them will be summarily executed. Just remember, a vote for me is a vote for life—your life. So if you wish to continue living, vote Dr. Monster.

The entire human race has slaved hard for me over the past year. Many of you have given your lives and the innocence of your daughters to me in tribute. Awesome! The accidental death toll has increased 30% over the last month. I say not high enough! This year I will have a death meter set up outside my Über-Palace. I believe this year we can break the 10,000,000 mark. But I can’t do it alone.

I hereby end this transmission. Good night and God bless.