How I Roll

Basically, I'm a lackey.

I'm not a lackey to a super-hero. Those guys get killed all the time for dramatic effect, and to truly enrage the hero who then goes all noble and stuff on the baddies.

Nopers, I'm the lackey to the bad, evil, corporate empire. The ones that attend dinners with Republicans, laughing about how much money they've made together.

Yeah, that's how evil we are.

And life is great for a lackey. Let me tell you. Whenever an do-gooder breaks into our headquarters, I'm one of the eighteen guys that gets ordered to take him/her down, and then quickly is defeated, left moaning over my own lack of skills.

But here's the thing: I'm still alive.

Yeah, that's right. The hero doesn't want me. I'm just a deluded follower. He/she wants the head honcho, and that's so very not me.

The upside to this, is when there's derision in the ranks, my particular Big Cheese actually has my back. That's right, I have an evil manager who knows and understand that the potential for me to assist in some later operation depends mostly on my still being alive and upright.

So, take Tuesday, for example. Another evil Duchess decides that I've stepped out of line, and leveled her Death Ray in my direction. Knowing where I stand in the world, I take it like a man. I do nothing. Immediately, my boss leaped into action, rallied her own troops, powered up her Death Ray Nullifier (boy, was that a sound investment) and went to work.

Next thing I know, I have an email with the title line of: Apologies.

I love being a lackey.