(A large man in plate armor and cape ascends to the makeshift stage of a large banquet hall. His regal bearing and powerful presence awe all those who look upon him, while Bryan Adams’s “Summer of ’69” plays in the background. He steps up to the microphone and speaks.)
Greetings, all, and tremble in fear, for I am Doom! I am honoring you all with my presence here tonight, for I am seeking the title of reunion homecoming king! I am expected to tell you, in three minutes or less, why you should vote for me. Bah! Doom does not plead—he takes!
But tonight I find that I enjoy this cat-and-mouse game you call class reunion. Of course, it may be the effects of the fruit punch, which Doom just learned was spiked by Teddy Spazzer Jenkins! In fact, I find it quite refreshing, as it does get quite hot under all this armor. (Sometimes Doom feels like he wants nothing more than to rip this metal helmet off and just scratch!) But I have sworn to let none behold my ruined visage, so I will rely on the party punch to bring down my core body temperature.
What’s that you say, peasant worm? Everclear? The Spazzer used Everclear in the punch? The Spazzer is diabolical! He will be made to serve me—tonight I will take the Spazzer and transfer his consciousness into the body of a giant gorilla with a fishbowl for a head. Do not beg for mercy, Spazzer, for Doom has spoken!
I know it may surprise some of you to see Doom upon this stage tonight. When Victor Von Doom was a young man, he was not popular amongst you, his classmates. Being as he was a late bloomer who suffered from severe adolescent acne, you saddled him with the nickname Sticky Vic, and, try as he might, you chose not to acknowledge his accomplishments—like becoming captain of the chess club, lettering in the Math Olympics, or snagging the plum role of Jud Fry in Latveria High’s production of Oklahoma!
But the torments made him strong, and in the crucible of locker-room wedgies and stag school dances, Sticky Vic was reborn into a demigod who would hide his pain behind a mask of steel, and who would seek vengeance on those who wronged him, by tasting the sweet nectar of world domination. And there is only one prize not yet in his grasp—that of the homecoming king’s crown! Sticky Vic is no more, now there is only Doom!
Lesser men may dream of appearing at their class reunion rich and famous, perhaps as a rock star with a babe on each arm. But Doom chose a different path, one that included building a 60-foot robot replica of himself and positioning it outside the Marriott banquet hall, its death ray set to “Incinerate.”
(And be warned that while you have been dancing and partaking of the Spazzer’s punch, Doom’s lackeys have been stealing into your homes and replacing you with android clones, just in case the Doombot-death-ray plan goes awry.)
Oh, let me also mention, on a sadder note, that I was sorry to hear of the recent death of our beloved teacher and math-team sponsor Mr. Gleason. Even Doom can shed tears when one of the great has fallen. And so I have decided to honor him, and to honor mathletes everywhere, by having his corpse reanimated and set loose upon the unsuspecting free nations of the world. Should his unholy hunger for destruction equal one-tenth of his appetite for logic puzzles and math-a-grams … beware!
Ah, I see that my three minutes are up, very well. In closing, let me simply say this—yield unto Doom what is rightfully his! Bow before Doom and lay the homecoming crown at his feet! (Also, Doom would be pleased if Lola Bianco were voted as his queen. Lola has filled out quite nicely over the years, and this pleases Doom.)
Now, for the talent portion of the competition, Doom will leave you with a comedic interpretation of the dead-parrot sketch from Monty Python, in which I play both store keeper and unsatisfied customer. Then the voting will commence, Doom will be crowned king, and Doom and Lola will slow-dance to “Man in the Mirror.”
So decrees Doom!