Doom's Day

I bid you welcome, you feckless, fawning jackals.

It seems that I, Victor Von Doom, must wrest this journal away from Comicsfan for the sake of his own apparently dwindling sanity. The fool--taking note of the sheep among you who cower at the mention of "2012" and falsely predict the "end of the world." When that time comes, Doom will be the end of your world, as he grinds you beneath his armored heel. Never forget that.

For now, though, it occurs to me that, among the many memorable "comic book" battle scenes that you've been exposed to within this blog, you mindless cattle have yet to witness the tactical brilliance that only Doom can bring to bear--a blunderous oversight that I am pleased to remedy. And nowhere is that brilliance more demonstrative than in my conflicts with the bestial, blundering Thing of the so-called Fantastic Four. With his only weapon being brute strength--combined with an annoying amount of tenacity and arrogance--even I must admit to being slightly impressed with this gargoyle's struggles in the face of Doom's inevitable mastery.

I shall now take you back to one of the Fantastic Four's most desperate battles with Doom--when I took vengeance on them for duping me with my own drug in a prior conflict. This time, I decided to take over their own headquarters, and use Reed Richards' own inventions and weaponry against them--put to much better use, of course, when guided by my own more brilliant intellect. My single-handed battle with the Thing occurs when the tide of battle has turned, with the Fantastic Four's recovery of their powers. And since that meant the return of the orange brute's misshapen ugliness along with his strength, he sought me out in a pitiful display of misdirected rage.

As you can see, the fool was able to gain the advantage time and again, only to be brutally slapped back down repeatedly. Yet I was careless, and at battle's end allowed him to literally gain the upper hand.

There are many rumors, of course, of how the Thing reportedly humbled Doom that day--even idiotic stories of shredding my armor and sending me limping back to my country of Latveria with my armor's wiring dragging alongside me. Fabrications! Hearsay! There were some minor injuries to my hands, nothing more--injuries that I repaid to Richards and his group of simpletons in full in our next encounter.

There are many other such battles that Doom will be pleased to share with you as time permits. Until then, I will see if I can determine the whereabouts of Comicsfan and retrieve him, so that he may continue his blog entries until then. My minions report he may have joined the rest of you who may be holed up in some sort of "doomsday" bunker, awaiting world's end--a play on words which I can hardly condone. When the real Doom finally does come for him--for any of you--I can assure you that burrowing yourselves into the ground will not save you.

But grovelling just might.