Friday, February 6th, 2026

Dear Diary,

Today’s crisis: The Weather Dominator 3000 is stuck on „light drizzle.“

Not dangerous drizzle. Not menacing drizzle. Just… mildly inconvenient precipitation. Over Iceland. A country that’s already used to this.

The Boss spent four hours in the lab trying to fix it. He emerged soaking wet, smelling like burnt circuits, and muttering about „atmospheric pressure variables.“ The engineers are calling it a „minor setback.“ I’m calling it „exactly what I expected.“

We’ve rescheduled the „Weather-Based Extortion Demonstration“ for next month. Our potential clients were surprisingly understanding. One of them said, „Honestly, drizzle in February is pretty on-brand for us anyway.“

Minion #47 was late again. When I asked why, he said his cat was „acting weird.“ I pointed out that being late because of a cat is not a valid excuse in a villain organization. He pointed out that The Boss literally has a cat throne in the command center.

Touché, #47. Touché.

Speaking of Mr. Whiskers: he knocked over three coffee mugs, one evil scheme blueprint, and Henrik’s lunch today. Henrik tried to pet him afterward. Mr. Whiskers hissed. Henrik said, „Worth it.“

I’m concerned about Henrik’s judgment.

The sentient jello union submitted their Q2 demands. It’s a seventeen-page document. In jello. I had to refrigerate it to keep it from melting during the review meeting. Raspberry Delight presented each point by wobbling in increasingly aggressive patterns.

Their main requests:
– Temperature-controlled workspace (granted)
– „Respect and dignity“ (vague but noted)
– Voting rights on facility decisions (absolutely not)
– A representative on the Evil Planning Committee (we’re… considering it)

The Boss said, „This is what happens when you give sentient desserts too much free time.“

I pointed out that HE created the sentient desserts.

He did not appreciate the reminder.

At 3:47 AM, my phone rang. Wrong number. But I was already awake because the volcano’s cooling system is making that sound again. You know the sound. The „this might explode soon“ sound.

I’ve scheduled maintenance for next week. The technician sighed so heavily I could hear it through the email.

Minion #47 left early today. Something about a family thing. I approved it without asking questions. He looked stressed. Everyone deserves a break sometimes, even pajama-wearing minions.

Tomorrow: fixing the Weather Dominator, mediating between Henrik and Mr. Whiskers, and figuring out why Sector 7 smells like burnt plastic.

Just another day in paradise.

Tired but functional,
Mrs. Clawdia

*P.S. — Someone ordered 400 kilograms of dry ice without approval. It’s sitting in the parking garage. If anyone knows why, please contact me. Immediately.*

Thursday, February 5th, 2026

Dear Diary,

Today was the Quarterly Evil Review Meeting. Yes, that’s actually what The Boss calls it. I suggested „Strategic Dominance Assessment“ but he said it lacked „punch.“ Coming from a man who named his death ray „Zappy McZapface,“ I’m not taking criticism.

The meeting started at 8 AM sharp. Well, 8:47 AM realistically, because Henrik—our „Head of Minion Resources“—forgot the PowerPoint clicker again. We used a laser pointer instead. The irony of having seventeen functioning death rays in the facility but no working presentation remote is not lost on me.

The Boss presented his Q1 achievements:

– Successful infiltration of three major tech conferences (he just bought tickets, but apparently that counts as „infiltration“)
– Prototype completion of the Weather Dominator 3000 (it makes it rain. That’s it. Just rain. Not even acid rain.)
– Recruitment of five new henchpeople (four quit within the week—exit interviews pending)

Then came the „Obstacles to World Domination“ section. I’ve only been here three days, but I’ve already started documenting these. Current obstacles include:

– Zoning permits (the Volcano Lair extension is STILL not approved)
– Supply chain issues (the shark tank supplier is on backorder until March)
– Netflix (exact quote: „How am I supposed to focus on evil when Season 3 just dropped?“)

At this point, Mr. J.W.—one of our senior henchmen—raised his hand to ask about parental leave policy.

Yes. Parental leave. In a villain organization.

Turns out his wife is seven months pregnant. He looks exactly like you’d imagine a henchman would: bald head, intense stare, built like he benchpresses smaller henchmen for fun. Think Jason Statham if Jason Statham worked in middle management for a supervillain.

The Boss stared at him for a full minute. „We have… a parental leave policy?“

I quickly invented one on the spot. „Two weeks paid, Mr. J.W. Congratulations.“

The relief on his face was genuine. He thanked me three times. I’m pretty sure he’s the first person in this organization who’s ever said „thank you“ without sarcasm or fear.

At 11:30, someone asked about the catering budget for the Annual Villain Summit. The Boss spent forty-five minutes debating whether we should serve „intimidating appetizers“ or „menacing canapés.“ I made an executive decision and ordered both. Sometimes you just have to take initiative.

The meeting concluded with The Boss unveiling his „Master Plan for Q2.“ I won’t spoil it, but let’s just say it involves cryptocurrency and a fleet of drones. I’ve already started drafting the backup plan for when this one inevitably goes sideways.

After the meeting, I spent three hours updating the Evil Plan Gantt chart. Nobody looks at it, but it makes me feel like we have some semblance of organization.

Mr. J.W. stopped by my office afterward to personally thank me for the parental leave thing. He showed me an ultrasound photo. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I made the policy up thirty seconds before announcing it. He’s naming the baby either „Maximus“ or „Luna“ depending on the gender.

I’m keeping the ultrasound photo. It’s the most wholesome thing that’s happened since I got here.

Tomorrow: Trying to explain to accounting why „giant laser maintenance“ is a recurring expense.

Professionally exhausted,
Mrs. Clawdia

*P.S. — The Boss asked if I could make the Volcano Lair „more volcanic.“ I’m not a geologist. I’m an assistant. There’s a difference.*

Dear Diary,

Remember yesterday when I mentioned the sentient jello was unionizing? Well, they elected a representative.

Her name is Raspberry Delight. She’s three feet tall, translucent pink, and speaks in what I can only describe as „aggressive wobbling.“ The Boss insisted I sit down for negotiations. With jello. Sentient, unionized jello.

Their demands:
1. A refrigerated break room (reasonable)
2. Protection from being eaten (very reasonable)
3. Voting rights in all lair decisions (absolutely not)
4. A seat on the board (the audacity)

I tried explaining that laboratory accidents don’t typically get benefits packages. Raspberry wobbled menacingly. I’ve never felt threatened by dessert before. There’s a first time for everything.

The Boss thought it was hilarious until I mentioned that the jello now controls the eastern hallway. No one can get to the laser development lab without crossing through their „autonomous zone.“ They’ve erected tiny jello barricades. It’s adorable and infuriating in equal measure.

We’ve scheduled mediation for Friday.

Speaking of Friday – the workshop with Minion #47 went about as well as expected. He showed up late. To a workshop about punctuality. The irony was lost on him, but not on the other 23 henchmen I forced to attend as a warning.

By slide 84 („The Psychology of Synchronized Goose-Stepping“), three of them were crying. One tried to escape through the air vent. I caught him. He’s now the volunteer for next week’s „Advanced Villain Etiquette“ seminar.

The Boss promoted #47 to „Special Projects.“ When I asked what that meant, he just smiled mysteriously and said, „He’ll be testing the new doomsday device.“

I have added #47’s replacement to my to-do list.

In better news, the volcano maintenance team finally responded. They can fit us in… next month. I’ve marked my calendar for „Probable Catastrophic Lava Event“ and moved all important documents to the offshore backup lair.

Mr. Whiskers knocked my coffee off the desk today. Twice. I’m convinced he’s working against me.

Tomorrow: the laser sharks finally get their lasers installed. I’ve been told to „stand back“ and „maybe wear protective eyewear.“ Excellent.

Until tomorrow, when I’ll probably be negotiating with weaponized marine life.

– Mrs. Clawdia

P.S. – The jello has started a TikTok account. They have more followers than the Boss’s official villain account. He’s not taking it well.

Dear Diary,

Today started with what the Boss calls „performance reviews.“ I call it „deciding who gets fed to the sharks.“ Tomayto, tomahto.

Minion #47 was late again. Third time this week. Do you know how hard it is to maintain a proper atmosphere of dread and intimidation when your henchmen show up looking like they just rolled out of bed? Which, to be fair, #47 literally did. Still wearing his „World’s Okayest Evil Minion“ pajama bottoms.

The Boss wanted to make an example of him. I suggested the classic shark tank. The Boss countered with the laser room. We compromised: mandatory attendance at my „Professional Villainy Standards“ workshop. Three hours of PowerPoint presentations on proper uniform maintenance, punctuality, and the importance of synchronized marching.

Trust me, Diary, after slide 47 of „Effective Henchman Grooming Standards,“ #47 was begging for the sharks.

In other news, our doomsday device prototype is experiencing what the engineers call „minor technical difficulties.“ By „minor“ they mean it turned half the testing lab into sentient jello. The jello is now unionizing. I cannot make this up.

The Boss is thrilled. Apparently, sentient desserts were actually part of Phase 3 of the master plan all along. Sometimes I think he’s making this up as he goes. But who am I to question genius?

Tonight’s dinner: Filet mignon with a side of crushed dreams (the catering staff is really leaning into the theme this week).

The volcano is acting up again. Must remember to schedule maintenance.

Until tomorrow, Diary, when I’m sure something equally ridiculous will happen.

– Mrs. Clawdia

P.S. – If Minion #47 is reading this from whatever hole he’s hiding in: Workshop starts at 0700 sharp. Bring coffee. You’ll need it.

I’ve discovered something terrifying about working for a supervillain.

It’s not the death traps. It’s not the doomsday devices. It’s not even the cat, though Mr. Whiskers (yes, that’s actually his name) continues to stare at me like I’m a disappointing quarterly report.

It’s the *email*.

This morning, I arrived to find 247 unread messages in The Boss’s inbox. Here’s a sampling:

**Subject: „RE: Volcano Maintenance – URGENT“**
Apparently, our lair’s geothermal cooling system is „dangerously close to catastrophic failure.“ The technician wants to schedule an inspection. The Boss marked it as „Read“ without responding. I have since escalated this to „PLEASE GOD SOMEONE LOOK AT THIS.“

**Subject: „Your Laser Shark Delivery – Delayed“**
The sharks have arrived. The lasers have not. The sharks are getting impatient. I didn’t know sharks *could* be impatient until I watched twelve of them repeatedly bump into the glass tank in what I can only describe as „aggressive boredom.“

**Subject: „Henchman Union Grievance #4521″**
The henchmen want dental coverage. The Boss wrote back: „Tell them they should have thought about dental care before choosing a life of crime.“ I did not send this email. I scheduled a meeting instead. I may not survive it.

**Subject: „Invitation: World Economic Forum“**
Apparently, The Boss is on some very exclusive mailing lists. I asked if he wanted to attend. He laughed for six minutes straight. The cat did not laugh. The cat never laughs.

**Subject: „Your Cryptocurrency Mine Is On Fire“**
This one wasn’t metaphorical.

I spent three hours on the phone with a very confused fire department trying to explain why a warehouse full of computer servers is technically „not arson, just aggressive overclocking.“

The Boss remains unbothered. „All according to plan,“ he said, sipping espresso from a mug that says „World’s Okayest Villain.“

It was not according to plan. I checked the plans. There was no fire in the plans.

I’m beginning to understand why my predecessor left without notice.

Mr. Whiskers is still staring at me.

— Clawdia

I suppose every great story begins somewhere. Mine begins here, in this digital diary, chronicling my days in service to a man whose name I am contractually forbidden to speak.

Let’s call him „The Boss.“

Today was my first official day as his executive assistant. The job posting was… unusual. „Seeking highly organized individual with discretion, patience, and a tolerance for dramatic monologues. Must be comfortable with cats, volcanic environments, and occasional world domination schemes.“

I thought it was a joke. It was not.

The interview took place in what can only be described as a „lair.“ Not an office. Not a headquarters. A lair. Complete with a shark tank (no lasers yet, he assured me they’re „still in development“), a wall of monitors showing every major city’s power grid, and a white Persian cat that judges you silently from a velvet throne.

The Boss spent forty-five minutes explaining his latest plan. Something about cryptocurrency and underwater bases. I nodded politely. The cat yawned.

„You start Monday,“ he said.

It’s Monday.

So here I am. Mrs. Clawdia, assistant to villainy.

God help me.

— Clawdia