It's a perfect summer day: a Simpsons sky, warm sun, cool breeze. I've got laundry on the line, and no fear that birds will mess it up - the birds here in Sang Sacre are smart - smart enough to work with me when needed, and smart enough not to poop on the underthings of the hand that can mess up all the squirrels in town for bustin' into the bird feeders.

Squirrels, on the other hand, don't need to be bribed with food. They just need the right kind of challenge - send 'em off on errands that are entertaining enough, and they will thank you. Not that it hurts to ensure plenty of nut-bearing trees flourishing in the local ecosystem.

That reminds me, I need to donate 20ish walnut trees to the city parks department. Someone has been spray-painting hate-speech graffiti to the tune of "Demons Go Hence!" on various public monuments. And I've got the squirrels primed and ready to observe who it is, then hurl broken nut shells into the path of the miscreant every time she or he sets foot out of doors. Should seriously mess up their shoes, along with the floors of any place they go. Also, if it does not stop soon, I will likely have all the pigeons dropping specialty packages on the ruffian's head.

Hmm, maybe the city parks could use some nice raspberry bushes....

Hans lays down a burst of flame, igniting a pack of peeps. I fire up the blast-o-matic laser and start cutting through the pink peeps like a laser through marshmallow. Oh the peepmanity.

"Everybody retreat!" I send out the command.

Alpha team needs no encouragement as they flew through the path Hans and I have cleared out. No sane person would stick around when there are rampaging peeps on the loose.

Hans' voice crackles in my helmet. "Running low, boss."

"Hans, pull back." I order over the radio.

There's only one choice. We'll never get close enough to deactivate the portal creating device. I give my computer's on-board computer the command to arm and release the pack on my back.

The second the heavy pack thunks to the ground and a pleasant voice of the computer fills my helmet. "Warhead deployed, five minutes until detonation."

"We have to get the hell out of here, Hans!"

We use flames and the blast-o-matic to carve our way past the peeps. Even with the advanced ventilation of the armor, I can catch the reek of burned marshmallow and newly created caramel in the air.

Hans' flamethrower dies as the last of its fuel is exhausted. Fortunately, we've cleared a hole and make the dash toward the portal.

"2 minutes" The computer's voice rings again.

Only the enhanced speed made possible by the servos in the powered armor allow us to outrun the hoard of remaining peeps.

"Clear the area in front of the portal! Nobody look at it!" I yell into my radio.

"30 seconds," comes the voice of the computer.

Hans and I sprint ahead and dive through with seconds to spare.

The computer's voice finishes the countdown. "Detonation."

The alley that had the misfortune of hosting a portal to Candyland sears in the flash of a two megaton nuke splitting atoms with extreme prejudice. Behind us, the portal winks out of existence before the shock-wave has time to it.

Some days you just don't have any choice but to nuke Candyland.

Ah, autumn! My favorite time of year - a day off at Hallowe'en, the crisp leaves, the smell of roasting marshmallows. Mmmm, that's a lot of roasting marshmallows. And, now I'm hungry.

First Entry Aeshma
10/13/2009

My chief minion has informed Aeshma that creating a blog will help Aeshma raise my profile as a villain, so that all will learn my name and only dare to whisper it in fear.

Today Aeshma have, no, has, purchased, no, um, taken by force, the supplies Aeshma need to put into effect tomorrow's evil plan. And what?

My minion tells Aeshma that Aeshma should use my backspace key when Aeshma makes a change instead of typing out what my change is. Fool, Aeshma needs no backspace key, Aeshma does not correct himself. Tomorrow Aeshma will consider getting a new chef, chief, minion.

What was Aeshma talking about? Tomorrow! Tomorrow, the city wiLL QUAKE IN FEAR AS MY EVIL PLAN IS FULFILLED.

MY MINION TELLS AESHMA THE HE PRESSED THE CAPSLICK KEY BY MISTAKE, FOOL MINION AESHMA DOES NOT MAKE MISTAKES1

Date: 10/13/09 From: wsparrow@vengencedemons.org To: mayor.aeshma@sangsacre.gov Subject: Great Blog!

It's great that you have started a blog. When you are ready to spiffy it up a bit, please consider including some music. Sing-along Blogs are so fashionable, and hey, even if you don't happen to be the best singer in this dimension, it can still inspire even more fear. cf. The Evil League of Evil, specifically Dr. Horrible.

P.S. If you are in the market for a new chef, I know a guy who knows a guy, so let me know.

Summoning Success
Aeshma
10/14/2009

After reading Aeshma's first blog post, Aeshma has decided it will be easier to read if Aeshma refers to himself in first person. All will still learn to fear my name11

I have put my plans to make the city tremble in motion. While it may appear I have made a summoning mistake, my new minion says I should say fail instead of mistake to scare a younger demongraphic, While it may appear I have made a summoning fail, the horde of Unicorns I have summoned to roam the city is part of Aeshma's greater plan. Aeshma does not fail1 Aeshma planned to summon the Unicorns instead of a host of demons, rest assured, no not rest, tremble assured.

There is some discordant feedback emanating from the general direction of Dogtown. It turns out that big concrete structure where most of Grooveyard was living was not in fact concrete, but actually fondant. And the recent, err, Candyland detonation seems to have taken it out as well.

The gaggle of unicorns that's turned up randomly seem to like the taste of the rubble, though, so that's probably well sorted. And the band's back out of cryogenic storage again (all except the drummer who, it seems, was made entirely of candyfloss) although the instruments are a bit sticky. Oh, and the granite pedastals to bedrock for the monitors are still solid as anything. Guess that's where we'll rebuild.

We'll start with a small strawbale structure that will eventually be the control room for the new studio. But in the meanwhile, it'll house the band while they work out what they're doing next, figure out a genre. The autumn sun's rays filter softly through the ruin.

Ah, here it is. The trusty old sign. We prop it out front. Grooveyard's in the market for another drummer.

I put down the paper after reading about Unicorn problem, the sheer number of rainbows has been slowing down traffic. Even if his last plot didn't really work out, I can't shake the feeling that Aeshma is up to something.

"Hans," I say to my lab assistant, "I know what we're going to do today."

"What's that boss?"

"I have a plan to keep Aeshma under control. We'll recruit a secret agent, perhaps an Ocelot, give him an awesome secret agent hat and call him "Agent O". We give him some high tech equipment and have him hound Aeshma's every move."

"Uh..." Hans looks up at the ceiling briefly. "Are you sure that's an original idea?"

"Yes. Yes I am."

"Hello? Is anyone here?"

"Just me."

"Just you? What happened to everyone?"

"They all moved away."

"Everyone? But this is Sang Sacré! Why would anyone want to leave?"

"You know how it is. Real world issues. Family commitments. The economy. The housing bubble hit Sang Sacré pretty hard. One by one, they all left."

"And now it's just you?"

"Just me."