Deep in the bowels of an extinct volcano, the executive committee of Evil LLC meets to discuss project proposals for 2015.
Dr. Evil: Scott? You have nothing?
Scott: (bored) Why waste my time? Nothing you do works anyway,
Dr. Evil: Don’t you think that is a little harsh?
[Dr. Evil arches an eye-brow into a question mark. He turns to Mini-Me, who bounces like a puppy in enthusiasm.]
[Dr. Evil slyly walks a finger across the conference table to a small control panel where he flips a lever.]
[Scott’s chair begins to swivel toward a large shark tank opening in the middle of the conference room – only to short out in a hail of sparks and a puff of blue smoke]
Scott: See? Nothing you do works. Loser.
[Dr. Evil puts his head in his hands]
Dr. Evil: Number 2, throw me a bone here. Tell me you have something.
[Number 2 rises]
Number 2: Yes, I do. It’s our most audacious plan yet. I call it, Conspiracy 2.0.
[Dr. Evil perks up]
Number 2: Imagine New York harbor on a damp and chilly night. A dark form ominously emerges from the fog. It is a converted oil tanker, the world’s largest, running with lights out. Slowly it pulls parallel the Brooklyn Bridge then inch by inch, it drifts beneath the bridge.
Dr. Evil: Oh, I likey.
Number 2: Once it is directly below the bridge, a hatching running the length of the deck creaks open and out of it’s giant maw, two immense jaws emerge. The jaws clank and grasp toward the bridge deck. One groans as it snaps at the Brooklyn end, while the other drools toward New York.
[Dr. Evil and Mini-Me clap their hands in delight]
Scott [bored]: It will never work.
Number 2: The hatches continue to open and a vast steel bed emerges, search lights sweep blue beams through the night sky and yellow safety lights flash as the bed is made ready to receive the bridge.
Scott: Steal the Brooklyn Bridge? It’s the stupidest idea ever. How do you get away?
Number 2: The jaws rise toward the bridge and abruptly stop.
[Number 2 sits down]
Dr. Evil: And that is when we ask for ONE MILLION DOLLARS?
[Mini-Me shoots him a harsh look]
Dr. Evil: Sorry, ONE BILLION DOLLARS!
Number 2: No, the arms that control the jaws are too short and the plan fails spectacularly.
[Everyone looks at each other. Again Dr. Evil’s fingers walk toward the console. He flips a lever and to his surprise Number 2 is dumped into the shark tank. Unfortunately, there are no sharks, nor are there sea bass with laser beams on their heads]
[Number 2 treads water]
Number 2: Don’t you see? It’s supposed to fail. It’s what people expect of us.
Dr. Evil: So what’s the conspiracy? Where is the pay-off? Have we given up on World Domination?
Number 2: It’s all in the marketing.
[Scott perks up]
Number 2: When the ship pulls into New York Harbor, CNN, FOXNEWS, MSNBC, YouTube.com, Al Jeezera, all will be waiting with cameras rolling. We charge them a franchise fee to be in on it.
Scott: Oh, my god! I get it: Evil T-Shirts, Eat the Brooklyn Bridge toy lines for Christmas. I can see it now, Evil LLC will top the NFL for franchising deals!
Number 2: Exactly, Scott. We are the world’s biggest losers and a brand like that has got to be worth a bundle!
[Dr. Evil is deep in thought as he strokes his hairless cat, Mr. Bigglesworth. Eventually, an eyebrow arches in delight]
Dr. Evil: Number 2, your plan is brilliant. Here, let me get you out of there.
Number 2: No!
[Mini-Me vigorously shakes his head, NOOOOO!]
[Too late: Dr. Evil hits a lever and a ridiculously large drain at the bottom of the shark tank opens up. Number 2’s screams are short-lived as he swirls to his doom]
This skit was a response to Len Maxwell’s excellent writing challenge: “Use prose or poetry to write about a conspiracy theory. As I said above make it believable but if you can’t do that, at least make it funny.”