He stood tall, despite his lack of height. His arms lay folded smugly across his chest. His hair was short and curvy, much like his figure. Most figured this is why he became so twisted, so bitter. Twisting across his face were his eyebrows, forever racing to outrace the other. (This was a trait inherited from the mother). His eyes were as dark as the night sky, yet nobody had seen the night as quite that ominous, even after a long night watching various movies of the Horror sort. Horrified they were to find that below his eyes, it just got worse. His horrible, hairy lips were as thin as the edge of a purse.
His waist jutted out from his sickly thin frame, giving him the illusion of being slightly overweight. That is the only time he would ever wait. His thin, hairy legs couldn't move him places, yet his smirking face would appear everywhere, from your laces to your suitcases. And with that would be a little message, perhaps a bird who had carefully flown across 2 states just to relieve itself on your new shirt, or a letter from your mother who had just discovered that the phone number you gave her was actually your disgruntled boss. And only then, would you hear his laugh. And only then, would you taste his justice. And only then, would you see that stupid little goatee, quivering softly on his flat chin. He never seemed to shave it, but it never seemed to grow, remaining wispy and weak, making him seem a bit dim.
The wise seek to avoid him, the rebellious urge to curse him, and the less knowledged are unaware of him. But let it be known, despite all of his faults, no villain is only a villain. After all, wouldn't you be evil if you were 4"8, cursed with facial hair in all the wrong places and had a mother who named you Rowalda?
