As Superchap was ironing his cape, supping brandy and watching Newsround, something came on that caught his attention.
"Police are now on high alert, as the new supervillain who goes by the name of Dr Procrastination is becoming well known on social media. His Facebook group, mysteriously titled, What Was I Doing Again?, has gained over half a million followers since its launch on Saturday, and Twitter is buzzing with Dr Procrastination-related posts."
"I say," said Superchap. "That's a bit of a mouthful." - at which he proudly flipped his now crease-free garment off the ironing board, folded it in 0.2 seconds and added it to the pile of multi-hued super-adornments.
Immediately hence, his phone rang.
"Oh bother," said Superchap, who still had three out of twenty-eight capes left to iron.
He looked at the phone... looked at the pile of three... scrunched up his mouth and frowned... then he whipped up the cobalt blue cape off the top of the freshly ironed pile, flung it around his neck, adjusted it so it faced the right way... and thus super-enhanced, he ironed, folded and piled the three remaining capes...
All in 2.04 seconds.
As they say.
He then answered the phone.
"... do you have unclaimed PPI? ..."
"Oh terrible tourniquets!" exclaimed Superchap, as he unwittingly crushed the handset to subatomic dust.
Dr Procrastination was updating his Facebook status.
"I will take over the world!" he said, as he typed. "But first I must catch up on my repeated viewing of season three of Lost."
When he had watched the remaining four episodes and made a few comments on the Ridiculously Obsessive Fans of Lost Facebook group, he went into his lab and considered the world-destroying superweapon before him. Or rather, he considered the plans for such, which he had recently printed and was halfway through deciding whether or not to get them laminated.
"It does give that more professional air," he said to himself. "But I don't want to waste time and resources on unnecessary embellishments."
Dr Procrastination was oblivious to the irony of his proclamation.
Just as he was on the verge of making a decision, his laptop pinged. His rival, Dr Useless, had just tweeted a pic of the origami submarine he had invented.
"Call that a submarine?!" said Dr P, as he typed. "Check out my Sub-Mercy-ble 2000!" - upon which he tweeted a pic of his own submarine. Or rather, a drawing of it.
Then the phone rang.
"Can't you see I'm busy?!" said Dr Procrastination, then he picked up the phone and said, "What?"
"Shouldn't it be 'Sub-No-Mercy-ble,' old chap?"
"Who is this?"
"Someone who wants to save you."
"I don't need saving."
"I mean from yourself, my good man."
"What does that even mean?"
"My dear fellow, I want to save you from doing Bad Things."
"I was born to do Bad Things!" said Dr Procrastination, in a big, booming and, quite frankly, unreasonably loud voice.
"I think you will find that the nature-nurture debate remains unresolved," said Superchap (for 'twas he (he had, it should be noted, a substantial collection of telephone handsets, on account of his propensity for the subatomic crushing of such)). "Do you," continued Superchap, "have a natural and genetically programmed inclination towards Evil? Or is this tendency, as I rather expect, due to your difficult and, no doubt, emotionally restrictive upbringing?"
"I did not not have an emotionally restrictive upbringing!" said Dr Procrastination.
"Really?" said Superchap. "It seems to me like you're in denial."
"I've never been to Egypt in my life!"
A siren went off in the distance. Dr Procrastination felt his stomach rumble.
"See you soon, Dr P," said Superchap. He then hung up the phone.
Dr Procrastination was checking his emails when Superchap crashed through the skylight.
"Stop right there, Dr Procrastination!"
"Hang on a minute."
The microwave pinged. Dr Procrastination took out his chicken curry and rice, gave it a stir and put it back in for another four minutes.
"Just got to empty my spambox."
Dr P click, clacked and tapped on the keyboard, scratched his head, hmm-ed a couple of times, then sat back in his seat, with a thoughtful look on his face.
"What is it, old chap?" said Superchap.
"It's just... I dunno... should I renew my subscription to Supervillains Monthly?"
"£5.99 a month, or £49.99 if I renew for the year."
"That's a decent saving."
"But it depends on your incomings and outgoings."
"Oh I can afford it. I just don't know if I can be bothered."
"Do you have any other subscriptions?"
"Superweapons Quarterly, The Evil Times, WMD Monthly, Nuts, The Guardian, Evil Genius, Mac User, The Journal of Abnormal Psychology, Nihilism For Beginners, The Radio Times, Glamour, Fluffy White Cats UK, Top Gear, Mwa-ha-ha..."
"I'd cancel that one."
Dr Procrastination cancelled Mwa-ha-ha and renewed Supervillains Monthly. "There."
"Are you done?"
"I just need a wee."
"Shall I put the kettle on?"
The superhero and his new arch-nemesis supped Darjeeling and considered their next move.
"It's just such hard work," said Dr P.
"I know what you mean," said Superchap. "I know I have superpowers, and everyone loves me and I save the world from certain doom on a daily basis and whatnot, but there's never a break."
"I wish I had superpowers," said Dr P; "so I could get things done more quickly."
"Pardon me if I'm speaking out of turn," said Superchap; "but what exactly have you done so far?"
"Many things, Superchap, many things!"
"Well I've... designed my latest superweapon!"
"And impressive it looks too."
"What is it, my good man?"
"I can't decide..."
"My goodness, you are in a pickle."
Dr Procrastination looked on the verge of tears.
"Well hey there, my good fellow, there's no need for that!" said Superchap, as he tentatively put an arm around Dr P's shoulders.
"A-ha!" said Dr Procrastination. "You have fallen into my trap!"
"Don't be silly," said Superchap, who had decided at that point that Dr Procrastination was not a supervillain he needed to worry about.
[ fin ]