After the unfortunate collapse of yet another evil scheme, the enigmatic cartoon duo Mark Brighton and Esther Kennedy returned to their laboratory hideout deep within the Pierce Island Wastewater Treatment Plant to plan again for tomorrow night.
“I was so close,” said the not-at-all-mouselike Brighton, clenching his fist in a villainous manner. “The plan was simple. I had believed that Portsmouth voters were some of the dumbest people on Earth, and it would be the perfect place to begin my plan to take over the world.”
“Um… well, it turns out they’re not very dumb, are they Mark? NARF!” interjected the Councilor Formerly Known as Esther Kennedy, having recently suffered a spectacular loss alongside the incumbents known as the “Brighton Five”.
“No, Kennedy… it appears not,” Brighton said, derisively smacking Kennedy with a cartoon glove. “My Brighton Five was the perfect plan! All I had to do was repeat some populist lies over and over without ever being challenged – nonsense about the post office, bike lanes, the McIntyre building, corruption, collusion with developers – and I thought they had bought it all! It wasn’t until Kennedy here…”
“Um, well, sorry Mark,” said Kennedy. “But I thought you wanted me to – point – what did you say? Sab-o, Sab-o-tajine…”
“Sabotage!” yelled Brighton.
“Right! NARF!” Kennedy continued. “Sab-o-tage the Portsmouth Pop-Up. It was such a lovely name anyway, I thought it would be great to register it before they did!”
“No, you irritating pathological egomaniac,” Brighton retorted. “You were supposed to do it by filling all of the beer kegs with soap, or replace the amplifiers with kazoos, or some other genre-appropriate wackiness – not get embroiled in an ethics hearing that would get the entire incumbent council I had assembled tossed out like an expended water bottle!”
“Ah, well, you can’t win them all, Mark,” concluded Kennedy, “Real elections are won by having competency, appealing to the voters’ good side, having a plan, and not being a cereal obstetrician.”
“That’s serial obstructionist,” corrected Brighton, defeatedly rubbing his eyes.
“Well, in any case, let’s return to the lab,” Brighton resigned. “We have to prepare for tomorrow night.”
“Why Mark, what are we going to do tomorrow night?” asked Kennedy.
“The same thing we do every night Kennedy, try to take over the world!”