A friend of mine recently gave me the gift of knowledge — evil knowledge. It came in the form of a book, which I wasted little time in reading cover-to-cover. Since my friend is also evil, she was probably drawn by some sympathetic force toward the book, and was compelled to share its secrets with others. It’s not terribly large, but it feels unnaturally heavy when you hold it in your hand and look at its title: How To Be A Villain.
Excellent…
The author of said book, Neil Zawacki, does an amazing job of detailing the art of being an Evil-Doer, from explaining "How to Do an Evil Laugh" to providing guides for recruiting Evil Henchman and demystifying Evil Fashion. He is even kind enough to provide the fledgling Evil-Doer with an "Evil Plan Generator" to help get you started. At first I was having trouble figuring out why exactly Zawacki would provide such an in-depth look at the art of Evilness, but then I realized that Zawacki himself was undoubtedly a villain in the making. Likely, he was merely trying to raise funds to build a Doomsday Machine of his very own. I’d imagine that those things are pretty damn expensive, and I can see how selling a book might be a faster route to global domination than holding an "Evil bake sale" (page 120).
 So I set upon a quest to begin a career in villainy — which unfortunately came to an abrupt end when I failed to pass the "Am I Evil?" quiz at the beginning of the book. Damn… and I was really looking forward to being a villain. Granted, I was having a lot of problems coming up with a name — I was dead set on being "Doctor*" somebody, but it just never came together. Maybe I’ll try again in a few years after I’ve developed the skill of arching EITHER of my eyebrows in an inquisitive/menacing manner (currently, I can only arch the left one). So in the meantime, I’ll just have to settle on what’s recently become my new career path — Box Office Ninja.
News to you, eh? Well, it was kind of a surprise to me as well. I’d just started my new job selling tickets in the rock ‘n’ roll end of the music business, when I was paid a rather abrupt visit one night by several of the Box Office Ninjas that are in residence in our local community. Now, having been a ticket seller for several years prior to this, I’d certainly been exposed to the legend of the Box Office Ninjas (and the other oft-denied secret group of ticket sellers, Box Office Delta Force). After a time, I’d eventually dismissed the legend as one of those things that’s far too cool-sounding to be real.
Now there was a black-clad figure holding me at sword point while several other shadows hovered in the background. You can only imagine my relief when the ninja with the sword unmasked to revel herself to be my long-time associate Katherine. She let me know that my recent career move out of opera had given the association enough reason to induct little ol’ me into their mythical order — the "Deadly Swift Fees of Death" themselves.
So now I get to dart though the shadows of the city with my colleagues, delivering envelopes containing your favorite concert tickets in the dead of night. Also, I’ve had the pleasure of moving like the wind, dealing death to unsuspecting annoying customers as I let fly with a hand full of razor-sharp ticket stock. Never cross the Box Office Ninjas — after all, that’s where the term "Will Call" originated. You bother good ticket sellers with your stupid questions about general admission seating, the Box Office Ninjas Will Call.
To answer what might also be your next question, yes we control Ticketmaster. It is every Box Office Ninja’s dream to be called up to serve the Great Sensei of Ticketing — you have to be a ninja for a minimum of five years to even be considered as a Ticketmaster employee. And yes, the "convenience fees" are another tool of the ninjas — we use them to keep ourselves supplied in fashionable black ninjawear, as well as to buy beer for our monthly get-togethers.
Of course, now that I’ve told you about the secrets of our order of Box Office Ninjas, you’ll have to be killed. Please expect a ninja to arrive at your home within the next three to five days to dispatch you. I suppose I could have warned you earlier not to read about our ninja secrets, but that would’ve been far too nice of me. Hey — wait a second!
<consulting book>
Damn! Okay, that makes me a LITTLE more evil, but still not enough to pass the quiz. Someday, someday… in the meantime — back to the shadows…
* "Doctor" must ALWAYS be spelled out. I refuse to be a threat on the world stage only to have people go around abbreviating my name.
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