You can’t stop me… bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha…

I’m the King of the Mountain.
I’m the Master of my Domain.
… the Master of all I can see…

… and trust me!
With this many eyes, I can see a dang sight more than you can, that’s for sure…

Look at how high I am.
So very much taller than you ground crawlers.
And I’m not even trying hard.
I can get a lot higher…

Don’t even need binoculars.

My eyesight’s always been perfect.

Can’t say the same for the kids, though.
Comes from the recessive genes of their Mother, I wouldn’t be surprised.

My Optometrist has sent a million and six of his brats to very fancy European universities, on the money I’ve paid him to keep all 23,000,000 of my kids, each with approximately 12,000 eyes apiece, in prescription specs…

Let’s see…
A pair of specs, for each individual photo receptor… multiply 23,000,000 by 12,000…
Carry the three…

Whoa…
Well, let’s just say I’ve paid him a lot of money… and leave it at that.

And for what?
Do they write?
Do they call?
Do they want to go into the family business?

NO!

All they want to know is if there’s anything in the fridge.
Or what’s on the television…

“Can Susie and Agnes and Betty and Phyllis and Monique and their 637,000 other sisters all spend the night?”

What am I… made of nectar…?

But just try and get them to take an interest in family traditions.
Just you try and get them to believe in the old ways…

I say, if it was good enough for my father, then it’s good enough for them.

You know what I mean…
You know the traditions I’m talking about…

 

Armabuggdon!

 

The coming of the…
… the…

*shudder*

… preceded, of course, by the Blue Angel of Electricity.

At least my kids know enough to avoid that particular menace.

 

Wait a minute!
What’s that smell?
That alluring, mesmerizing odor?

Where am I?
How’d I get here?

Where is here?

Inside…?
How’d I get inside?
What’s that big swishing sounding thing coming at me?

 

… aw, crap…