Mad Scientists are People Too

Note: I originally wrote this as a slam poem, so take away from that what you will.

Mad Scientists are People Too

My dear beloved, valued, faithful victims,

I realize that in the past I’ve done some things that you seem to think may have inconvenienced you. Allegedly. Looking back on my misdeeds from this impenetrable prison cell in a government bunker at the bottom of the ocean, I realize that some of them may have been wrong. For that, I suppose I am sorry.

I’m sorry I that I was still trying to play the game when all the cool kids were fighting the system, and I only tried to steal the island of Manhattan ‘cause I wanted to make it baby!

Sorry for trying to blow up the Earth because I thought more stars would be prettier to look at from my secret headquarters in space.


I’m sorry that when you saw me repeatedly stabbing the skin of the world

you didn’t see the thread tied to the tip of my sword

as I tried to sew the wounds shut,

because, yes I should have used anesthetic

but sometimes fixing things doesn’t look like fixing them—

And just because you roundhouse kicked all my henchmen

and stopped a dramatic countdown from ten

and walked slowly away from explosions like someone

who doesn’t give a fuck, doesn’t make our society any better off

than one where I ransomed the President and took over the Western Hemisphere,

so I’m sorry my morality look as black and white as yours

and to your goody-goody sensibilities

my dark grays are out of place.


And what If I knew from the beginning that

kidnapping that girl you kind of liked

would make you hero up and rescue her,

falling in love in the process,

so you’re welcome for engineering your future happiness.

I’m sorry for not clarifying that sooner,

like before you threw me into the nuclear reactor of my underground volcano base for instance—

That was my bad apparently.


I’m sorry that children have nightmares about me in the middle of the afternoon,

I’m sorry for carving my face into the polar ice caps,

I’m sorry for spray-painting a goatee onto the face of the Mona—


You know what actually?

I’m NOT sorry. I’m not sorry because everything I’ve done

in a megalomanic  frenzy did nothing but ensure that for once,

everybody got to win (but me),

I saved the world from the grey abyss of moral ambiguity,

from evil with a lowercase ‘e’,

from problems you can’t solve by punching them in the face—

I’m not sorry for giving the world hope, and heroes,

because every blatantly evil scheme was a fucking charity,

and even though I tried to nuke the White House from outer space,

I’M the one who made the world a better place.


Fuck You,

The Bad Guy.


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