Ah, it’s great to be me! Only I, Erik Failenheimer, would have the good fortune of the two cargo ships being in near-perfect working order. Just a little fine-tuning and they’ll be ready to serve my purposes—capturing Kelvar Klosmo (or whatever his name is), trading him for the Zorb, and taking over the Galactic Science Hub to use as my own orbiting space lair. BWAHAHAHA!!!
But before I launch my awe-inspiring attack, I must appraise the readiness of my newfound army for battle. I’ve been working with my number two, that dolt Brunswick, on his English. But after nearly three whole hours of my incomparable instruction, minus a couple of forty-five-minute nap breaks, he still hasn’t mastered the language. He does know a few words, though, so it’s time to put my subjects through the paces.
Zarfloots! What these pea-brained pinions lack in intelligence, they more than make up for with sheer, blinding speed! Those galactic Goody Two-shoes on the Science Hub won’t know what hit them! I can actually smell the sweet scent of victory in the air! Although that may just be leftover traces of Bula’s lip balm on my nose.
