The Big Stink rolled into town after six months of living high on the hog in Barbados, burning through every red cent he’d taken the last time he was on the local circuit. Everyone just stayed clear the first day or two, hoping and praying ol’ Stink would get bored and move on…but of course he didn’t. In fact, he worked his way around the neighborhood with particular zeal, stealing with more pure intensity than ever before. By the time he’d finished, the townspeople were homeless, penniless, and shoeless.
But The Big Stink had enough dough-re-miski for another wild and wooly hip-hoorah holiday in an exotic port of call. So he headed off to the brand new island of Limonada, out on the edge of the tropical Antarctic islands. Way to be, global warming! That was his thought as the plane landed on Limonada’s lush airstrip, delivering him in all his stinky glory to another fresh and festive locale. His dream: to be the first to pillage and ravage this new paradise. What greater honor could there be for a human horror such as Le Stink?
Flash forward three days, and Limonada had been reduced to a quivering shambles. The Big Stink strutted around with pockets full of fat cigars and flasks of prehistoric whiskey distilled from billion-year-old vegetation retrieved from the thawed South Pole ice pack. The casino on Limonada was broke, every merchant owed protection, and every lady had been converted to a lady of the night. The Big Stink had made his dream a reality, and he had his sainted mother and loyal fans to thank. Hello, Stinksketeers! Log on to TheBigStink dot com for the latest updates on my violation of the newly exposed Antarctic lands!
So where did El Biggo Stinko finally go wrong? Why do we look back at him with such great disregard, when by all rights, in our new evil utopia, he should be eternally venerated? Look no further than his blind spot, his soft spot, his weak spot: he could not bring himself to ruin his own family. He could desecrate every monument, destroy every institution, depose every leader, rob from the rich and the lame alike, but he could not bring himself to strike at his own family. And this is why he has not yet and never shall win membership in the Wickedness Hall of Fame or see his horrific deeds enshrined for future generations of evildoers the world over. This is why all young Eviltopians are trained to spit on the ground whenever his name is mentioned, and why no evil child born of evil woman shall ever again bear the name The Big Stink. The memory of his atrocities, like not stealing his mother or cousins blind, lives on only to serve as an object lesson in how not to be fully evilized, evilated, or evilified. So don’t you be like The Big Stink! Remember: true evil does not show favorites. True evil might find its fullest flower at the ends of the Earth, but never forget it must always begin at home.
(See you soon.)