Rule the School Read online

  OH, SURE. THOSE AGE- REDUCTION RAYS CAN BE TRICKY. WHY, JUST YESTERDAY I WAS … GET YOUR PARENTS OUT HERE RIGHT THIS MINUTE!

  Mortner was mocking me! That bald-headed bumpkin was actually mocking ME, Vordak the Incomprehensible! I had lost all patience with the man. It was time to put my near limitless brain power to work and devise, as only I can, an incredibly clever, breathtakingly brilliant, exceedingly sensational scheme to rid myself of this chubby-chinned chatterbox once and for all.

  THERE’S A SPIDER ON YOUR SHOE.

  As he was sprinting back down the driveway, Mortner tossed the enrollment forms over his shoulder and shouted that they needed to be filled out and that, if I wasn’t in class by the beginning of the next week, we would be hauled into court. There was no way I was getting in front of a judge. What if he figured out who I really was? And all the diabolical deeds I had done? I’m fairly certain there are stiff penalties for hollowing out Mount Rushmore and using it as an Evil Lair. Or filling the Grand Canyon with strawberry Jell-O.

  I needed to keep a low profile and, no matter how much fun I was having, I also needed to return to my normal nasty self. So, now I had two problems to deal with—at the same time! In situations like this, I find that if I write the problems down and stare at them for hours on end, the solution usually becomes clear:

  Problem 1. Must figure out a way to get inside Farding Junior High School in order to get my hands on the balsoid coil.

  Problem 2. Must figure out what to do with this enrollment form for Farding Junior High School.

  Nope. Nothing was coming to me at the moment.

  “Why didn’t you just fill out the enrollment form and become a student?”

  And why don’t you just quit stealing my brilliant ideas?! I said nothing was coming to me at the moment. Enrolling in the school is exactly what I did. Eventually. I figured I would get in, locate the balsoid coil, and get out. It shouldn’t take more than a day or two. What the heck, I might even have a little fun while I was there. After all, I thought, it was junior high—how hard could it be?

  CHAPTER THREE

  EXTREMELY HARD!

  Junior high proved to be much more of a pain than I remembered. In fact, just getting there was a challenge. I couldn’t very well drive myself in my present condition. Law enforcement does not look favorably upon twelve-year-olds driving motor vehicles on public roads. I found that out the hard way when I really was twelve. I could have had one of my henchmen drive me, but I don’t trust them at the controls of my toaster, much less one of my villainous vehicles. And walking a mile and a half was certainly out of the question, as I have already pointed out my distaste for exercise. That left … the bus.

  Monday arrived and I loaded up my backpack with everything I would require for my first day of school, including my portable Befuddling Balsoid Coil Detector. When the bus arrived, I decided to sit up front so I could get off quickly. The less time spent in that yucky yellow yo … in that yippety yellow ya … (ACK! Again with the Ys—first it was the youth machine and now this. Speaking with the vibrant vocabulary of villainy can be a real pain at times. Must … concentrate….) The less time spent in that cramped, canary-colored carrier (YES!) the better. The other passengers all tried their best to cram into the rear of the bus, where all the “cool” kids sit. All, that is, save one—Myron H.—whose name I figured out without even using my powers of incomprehensibility.

  Now, I am used to having ordinary humans stare at me in awe. I often demand it, in fact. But Myron H. was creeping me out. And he never uttered a word the entire trip. Just sat there … motionless … staring. I thought he might have been a robot.

  A lousy morning got worse once I arrived at my dreadful destination.

  It turns out the school had a security checkpoint just inside the entrance. This was unfortunate.

  They even took my portable Befuddling Balsoid Coil Detector! If I was to find that prized appliance part now, I was going to have to do it the old-fashioned way—by capturing the principal and dangling him over a pit of particularly peeved pythons until he reveals its location. MUAHAHAHAHA!!! Unfortunately, after asking around a bit, I was appalled to discover that this sorry excuse for a school doesn’t even have a python, peeved or otherwise. So I was now forced to resort to the old-old-fashioned way, which mainly involves sneaking around when no one is looking. This was going to take longer than I thought.

  Before I could officially begin my first day of school, I had to meet with the principal to go over all my paperwork. Imagine—Vordak the Incomprehensible having to prove himself worthy of attending junior high to some slack-jawed simpleton.

  “Um, I hope you didn’t call him that to his face.”

  Oh, I wanted to, but I needed to play it cool. Yes, he was clearly my inferior and the very thought of carrying on a conversation with him made my brain throb in agony, but sometimes you do what you must. I took a seat across from his desk and concentrated on staying polite and under control for as long as was necessary. I am Vordak the Incomprehensible! Nothing is beyond my capability!

  HELLO, YOUNG MAN. MY NAME IS MR. COMBOVER. AND YOU MUST BE VODRAK.

  IT’S VORDAK, YOU SLACK-JAWED SIMPLETON!

  “Ha! I knew it!”

  Well, aren’t you a little smarty-pants. Anyway, as punishment, Combover had me spend the next thirty minutes closely examining the wallpaper seam in the corner of his office. That’s right, no giant circular saws or vats of acid or tanks filled with scorpions. I decided Combover would make a terrible Supervillain. When the thirty minutes were up, I returned to my seat across from his desk.

  NOW, LET’S TRY THIS AGAIN, SHALL WE? AS I SAID, MY NAME IS MR. COMBOVER, AND I’M THE PRINCIPAL HERE AT FARDING JUNIOR HIGH.

  WHAT IN GRIMNOR’S NAME IS A FARDING?

  IT’S NOT A WHAT. IT’S A WHO. FREDERICK FARDING WAS THIS COUNTRY’S TOP TRAINER OF SOLDIERS DURING WORLD WAR II. LEGEND HAS IT THE ENEMY WOULD TURN AND RUN IF THEY SO MUCH AS SNIFFED A FARDING SOLDIER.

  AS WOULD I.

  YOUR PAPERWORK SEEMS TO BE IN ORDER, ALTHOUGH I DO HAVE A FEW QUESTIONS CONCERNING THE “PREVIOUS INJURIES” YOU LISTED ON THE HEALTH HISTORY FORM. HOW EXACTLY DOES ONE SUSTAIN A “TORN RIGHT NOSTRIL”?

  ACK! I should have known he would ask about this. I’ve suffered a multitude of miserable mishaps over the years while battling Commander Virtue. In order to avoid raising suspicion, I would have to use my inconceivable intellect to carefully craft a set of diabolically detailed lies to explain how I received those injuries.

  I TRIPPED OVER A ROCK.

  AND THE FLATTENED INTESTINES?

  TRIPPED OVER A ROCK.

  I SEE…. SCALDED BUTTOCKS? LET ME GUESS—YOU TRIPPED OVER A ROCK.

  AN EXTREMELY HOT ROCK.

  YOU SEEM TO HAVE A HUGE PROBLEM KEEPING YOUR BALANCE.

  WELL, MY HELMET IS FAIRLY HEAVY.

  AND THAT BRINGS ME TO MY NEXT POINT. HELMETS WITH METAL ANTLERS …

  BLADES!

  VERY WELL, HELMETS WITH METAL “BLADES” ARE TOO DANGEROUS TO WEAR TO SCHOOL. AND CAPES ARE A CHOKING HAZARD. I’M AFRAID YOU WON’T BE ABLE TO WEAR YOUR COSTUME TO SCHOOL AGAIN AFTER TODAY.

  WHAT?! RARELY HAVE I EVER CHOKED ANYONE WITH MY CAPE! AND WITHOUT MY HELMET OF DISCONCERTMENT, EVERYONE WILL BE ABLE TO SEE MY FACE! I PREFER TO MAINTAIN A CERTAIN LEVEL OF SECRECY.

  WELL, RULES ARE RULES, I’M AFRAID. THE ONLY WAY YOU COULD CONTINUE TO WEAR YOUR COSTUME IS IF YOU HAD A DOCTOR’S PERMISSION DUE TO A MEDICAL CONDITION. ANYWAY, DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT. ONCE YOU GET USED TO IT, I THINK YOU’LL FIND FARDING TO BE A WONDERFUL EXPERIENCE.

  I ALREADY DO.

  I spent the rest of that first day getting comfortable with the layout of the school. There was no sign of the balsoid coil—so much for it just lying about in the open. I would begin my search in earnest the next day.

  Since it appeared I would be spending more time than I’d originally planned at the school, I decided to hire an Evil Scientist to get started on the Fantastically Frigid
Freeze Ray. Even though my expanded lair is in pretty good shape, I have not yet had the time to rebuild my evil organization. I did pick up a couple of henchmen who were looking for a new Evil Mastermind after their former leader, The Black Corpuscle, was captured by Commander Virtue, but that’s it as of now. So I placed an ad in The Criminal Chronicle:

  Unfortunately, only one person answered the ad, a guy named Professor Cranium. The fact that he was able to locate my secret lair spoke well for his intelligence. The fact that his pants were on backwards did not. I couldn’t afford to be choosy, however, so I brought him on board.

  The good news is Myron H. didn’t sit next to me on the bus Tuesday morning. The bad news is Fara Farkesh, who is apparently undergoing some sort of major orthodontic procedure, did.

  MIND IF WE SHARE A SHEAT? SHAY, YOU MUSHT BE THAT NEW SHTUDENT. I’M FARA FARKESH. SHO, HOW DO YOU LIKE SHCHOOL SHO FAR? SHOME SHTUDENTSH SHAY I TALK TOO MUCH, BUT I SURE DON’T SHINK SHO.

  At least Myron H. was quiet. And relatively moisture-free. This was as unbearably bad a bus ride as I had ever been on … and then we hit a pothole.

  That little dental disaster was really wedged in there. We didn’t get untangled until the school security guard pried her off, thinking she was a weapon of some sort.

  “Wait a minute. I thought you weren’t allowed to wear your helmet to school anymore.”

  Bah! Rules are for Vordak the Incomprehensible to make, not follow. If that cretin Combover wanted a doctor’s note, a doctor’s note he would have.

  “Wait a minute—isn’t Niarb Suomrone just ‘enormous brain’ spelled backwards?”

  Pretty clever, eh? Of course Combover was totally clueless. I had that bumbling buffoon completely bamboozled. He was putty in my hands, so later that day I handed him another note.

  That boneheaded bumpkin bought it again! Now I had an extra half hour at lunch to spend searching for the balsoid coil. And, since things were going so well enormous-brain-note-wise, I figured it couldn’t hurt to try one more.

  He didn’t go for it.

  On Wednesday morning, I decided to give the bus one more opportunity to deliver me to school without mishap. I figured I had nothing to lose at this point and took a seat in the back of the bus, where I was immediately engulfed by the Sminion brothers, Big Vince and Little Vince.

  GREAT GASSY GOBLINS! I’ve unearthed zombies that smelled better than those two. I made a mental note to keep the Sminions in mind for any thuggery I might require in the future.

  Later that day I had my first math quiz. As focused as I was in my search for the coil, I still had to sit through my classes in order to remain at the school. I was starting a month later than the other students but, let’s face it, I am an Evil Genious Genius and fully capable of passing the seventh grade with ninetenths of my brain tied behind my back. So naturally I aced the quiz. Without even studying. This stuff was a lot easier than I remembered. Unfortunately, Miss Flounmounder displayed her complete jealousy of my mathematical magnificence by grading it unfairly.

  After a brief visit from my seven-foot-tall, fourhundred-pound attorney, Combover agreed that, technically, my answers were indeed correct. So, like I said, I aced it. And speaking of Combover, the man apparently loves the sound of his own voice because about every twenty minutes, all day long, he bombards my senses with some ridiculous announcement over the PA system.

  “Attention. This is Principal Combover. I would like to take a moment to welcome all of our Grandparents’ Day visitors and ask that you please make your way into the cafeteria. I have been told by Officer Davies that a hallway full of Farding grandparents is a fire code violation.”

  That afternoon, I returned home to find Professor Cranium hard at work on my freeze ray.

  “Don’t you mean your Fantastically Frigid Freeze Ray?”

  Not the way Cranium was going. More like the Fantastically Feeble Freeze Ray. He ran his first tests on the prototype that morning and it took him three and a half hours just to make ice cubes. UNACCEPTABLE! Normally, I would have mocked him right then and there, but my youthful appearance doesn’t exactly cast an intimidating shadow. So I decided to leave Cranium a sticky note instead.

  Surely that prizewinning putdown would straighten him out.

  Thursday I had to put my search for the balsoid coil on hold in order to deal with a COVAFS emergency.

  “A COVAFS emergency?”

  That’s right—a COmmander Virtue Action Figure Sighting.

  “Oh, so it’s an abbreviation.”

  No, it’s an acronym. I use acronyms because they save me a lot of valuable time, at least when I don’t have to explain their meaning to a yokel such as yourself. Here’s another one: You Obviously Know Extremely Little.

  Now, where was I before you so rudely interrupted? Ah, yes, the Commander Virtue action figure …

  Zounds, how I despise those despicable dolls! I can’t even walk past one in a store without unleashing my awesome wrath upon it!

  “Maybe you’re just jealous that Commander Virtue has an action figure and you don’t.”

  Oh, I have my own action figure, all right.

  At least I used to. They don’t make it anymore because not enough people bought it. They never buy the villains—unless you can transform into a tank or an airplane or some such nonsense.

  So now nothing gets my blood boiling like the sight of a kid playing with one of those vile little Virtue figures, which is exactly what some nameless little numbskull had the nerve to do in my woodworking class.

  There he was, bending and twisting and flexing and contorting the repulsive little plaything into all sorts of heroic positions. Oh, how I longed to pry it from his sawdust-covered hands and stomp it into an unrecognizable blob. But I couldn’t risk being suspended before I located the balsoid coil, so I quickly devised an EVIL PLAN.

  VORDAK THE INCOMPREHENSIBLE’S

  Foolproof Diabolical EVIL PLAN 1792

  Commander Virtue Action Figure Elimination

  1. Demand to use the restroom.

  2. Sneak into Principal Combover’s office and issue the following announcement over the PA system:

  “All members of Mr. Thumbstump’s woodworking class are to report to the nurse’s station immediately for mandatory toenail-fungus inspection. This includes you, Mr. Thumbstump. Please leave all Commander Virtue action figures tied to a two-by-four on the table saw before leaving the classroom.”

  3. Return to the classroom and finish off Virtue action figure.

  I love it when a plan comes together.

  I slept well that night. I always sleep well after successfully carrying out an EVIL PLAN. I arrived at my desk in Miss Flounmounder’s math class Friday morning in a wonderful mood. Then an announcement came over the PA that changed everything.

  “Attention, students. This is Principal Combover. It appears that someone vandalized the property of one of your classmates yesterday while he was being checked for toenail fungus by Nurse Belchgas. If anyone has information as to who is responsible for Craig Virtue’s doll being sawed in half, please come to the office immediately. Also, Nurse Belchgas has asked that from here on out you check your own toenails for fungus.”

  CRAIG VIRTUE?! Could it possibly be? Could that pasty-faced little pipsqueak actually be the son of … COMMANDER VIRTUE?! I tracked him down in the hallway after class.

  YOU, THERE. IS YOUR NAME CRAIG VIRTUE?

  UH-HUH.

  DOES YOUR FATHER HAPPEN TO BE … COMMANDER VIRTUE?

  UH-HUH.

  GREAT GASSY GOBLINS! THEN YOU MUST CERTAINLY KNOW WHO I AM.

  SURE. YOU’RE THAT NEW KID, THE ONE WITH THE BRAIN PROBLEM, VODRAK.

  IT’S VORDAK, YOU LITTLE SIM— WHAT I MEANT TO SAY WAS THAT YOUR FATHER MUST TALK ABOUT ME A LOT.

  MY FATHER? NO, I DON’T THINK HE EVER MENTIONED YOU.

  OH. WELL, HE PROBABLY DOESN’T LIKE TO TALK ABOUT HIS SUPERHERO WORK WHEN HE’S AT HOME, EH?

  SURE HE DOES! ALL THE TIME! HE’S ALWAYS T
ELLING ME STORIES ABOUT HIS BATTLES WITH POWERFUL SUPERVILLAINS LIKE DR. DIABOLICAL AND MODRAX AND THE GREEN GREMLIN AND … THERE MUST BE HUNDREDS MORE! HE EVEN HAS PICTURES OF HIS TOP ONE HUNDRED FOES HANGING ON THE WALL OF JUSTICE IN THE FAMILY ROOM.

  REALLY? AND MY HELMET STILL DOESN’T LOOK AT ALL FAMILIAR TO YOU?

  WELL, NOW THAT YOU MENTION IT, THERE IS A RAKE IN THE GARAGE THAT SORT OF—

  NEVER MIND!

  Can you believe the nerve of that namby-pamby nincompoop, Commander Virtue? I consider him to be my greatest foe, my bitterest enemy, my arch-nemesis. And he doesn’t even mention me to his son? ME, who has spent the better part of two decades plotting his ultimate demise? ME, who has captured him and placed him in my diabolically clever yet extremely slow-acting death traps no fewer than thirty-seven times? ME, who has rung his doorbell late at night, then run and hid in the bushes? I don’t even merit a spot on his stupid “Wall of Justice”? That’s just plain rude. It was time to revise my priorities:

  VORDAK THE INCOMPREHENSIBLE’S

  Remarkable Revised List of Pulse-Pounding Priorities

  1. Destroy Commander Virtue!

  2. Destroy Commander Virtue!

  3. Destroy Commander Virtue!

  4. Locate balsoid coil and fix Abominable Age-Reversal Ray.