So, it was my turn. I gingerly reached into the hat, not knowing whose name I would pull out. Under my breath, I chanted a mantra: "Not Petit. Not Petit. Not Petit." I unfolded the paper ever so slowly and breathed a large sigh of relief followed by a gasp. The sigh was because it wasn't our most hated villain Henri Petit, that malformed infantile tobacco-stained wretch. The gasp was because it was someone who had proven themselves in the past to be quite formidable. Little Debbie.
So, I duly rolled up to the private space in the Unbelievabase to await Little D's arrival. I noticed she looked a little different to how I remembered. She was also clutching an 8x10 glossy of our own Mr. Michael Noble (she seems to be a bit of a fan of his. There you go - it takes all sorts).
Here's how it went, after she was allowed to bring in a handcart full of boxed baked goods with her.
ME: What's all that stuff?
LD: Oh, that, it's a gift for you guys. (Grabs box of Honey Buns, proffers them) Snack cake?
ME: No, I'm good thanks. And by the way, that was question number one.
LD: Dangit! OK. Um, Do you think I stand a chance with Michael?
ME: No. Well, maybe if you, uh...
LD: If I what?
ME: Sorry, yes or no questions only. Nine to go.
LD: But what were you going to say? If I lost some weight, is that it?
ME: Yes, and stop wasting your questions. You have eight left.
LD: That's really hurtful. It isn't easy being a super-villain-baker, you know (tears into box of Honey Buns and starts to devour them), I mean I try and I try but there's just so much stress in this job and I end up snacking on whatever's closest to hand, and... (sniff, sob)...
ME: My heart bleeds. Now then, hurry up. Next question.
LD: Have you always been this rude?
ME: Only with people like you. Seven.
LD: (composing herself) You sure you don't want a Zebra Cake? I can't tempt you with a Honey Bun?
ME: No, twice. Five left, Little Debbie - or, should I say, not-so-Little-anymore-Debbie.
LD: Will you please lay off the fat jokes!
ME: Yes. Four questions.
ME: Yes. Three. Make'm good ones.
LD: Alright. Is there any way I can talk to Michael instead?
ME: No. You haven't asked a single worthwhile question yet. Two left.
LD: I don't suppose there's any chance of a do-over?
ME: No. Last one. And before you say anything - think. Just think what you are saying.
LD: (pause) Alright (sighs heavily). I'm seriously hoping you'll say yes to this. If I'm very good and promise to get out of the villainy game and because I want to get fighting fit and back in shape, is there a chance I can learn UnbelievaFu and UnbelievaZen?
ME: Listen, Debs. I wouldn't want you to go away thinking that this was a pointless waste of time for both of us, but you have to understand. You caused us a great deal of trouble and a lot of extra work. You're an unstable, emotional secret-eater who wants to drive every mom-and-pop local bakery out of business, not to mention some not-so-small ones too. You wanted to make sure your additive-filled crap was on every shelf in every store, so you could be super-rich and buy up the world piece by piece.
LD: So...? Yes or no?
ME: I'm gonna have to say no.
LD: Waaaahhh!! (collapses in a teary, cakey heap and begins to weep freely)
ME: (to Kip the Mail Boy) Get her out of here. I have a date with a hot tub and a Rob Roy.
LD: But where's Michael?! Lemme ask Michael!!! MICHAELLLLL!!!!
ME: Don't let her ANYWHERE NEAR Michael, got it?
Oh, and yes - we kept all the baked goods. We tested them rigorously in our labs before consumption. I'm not saying Little Debbie's products are bad for you, but this is what my chair looked like after eating them.