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I always wanted to be a mad scientist; especially aged 5. So much so that I commandeered an unused shed in our back yard and turned it into my laboratory (not that I could even pronounce ‘laboratory’ back then). In between creating various foul tasting potions from the contents of the fridge and the bathroom (and even occasionally with secreted items from under the sink), I also created a frustratingly static robot (out of clay and an old telephone I found in a skip) who completely failed to attract any life bestowing lightening bolts and, also, much to my mother’s annoyance, dug a hole in the middle of the lawn in an attempt to reach the centre of the earth.
I remember, at about that time, feeling royally pissed off at action cartoons when the good guys always won; it seemed unfair that the megalomaniac would invest money, time and meticulous planning into zir plots only to have it all smashed up by a group of dickhead ‘heroes’.
Anyway, I still hate heroes, love science and suspect that the world should be bowing before me. In fact, somewhat thanks to these rose tinted glasses of hindsight, I think I am becoming rather smitten with the idea once again – besides, I’d look hottt pulling menacingly oversized levers in one of those swoosh-y white lab coats. |
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