Dr. Evil: Very well, where should I begin? My father
was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low-grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My
mother was a fifteen-year-old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink, he
would make outrageous claims, like he invented the question mark. Sometimes he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. A sort
of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament. My childhood was typical. Summers in Rangoon, luge
lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. If I was insolent, I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds.
Pretty standard, really. At the age of twelve I received my first scribe. At the age of fifteen, a Zoroastrian named Vilma
ritualistically shaved my testicles. There really is nothing like a shaven scrotum. At the age of eighteen, I went off to
evil medical school. From there...