Starter Villain Quotes

Don’t swim with the dolphins during a labor dispute. No matter how much they try to convince you otherwise

DOGS ARE THE WORST. THEY’LL SELL YOU OUT FOR A TREAT AND A HEAD PAT.

I didn’t need another cat. At this point in my brilliant career as an itinerant educator I could barely afford to feed myself. But then, no one ever needs a cat these days. That’s not why we have cats. We have cats because they amuse us and because otherwise our clothes would lack the texture only cat hair can provide.

Sounds risky.” I’M A CAT, I CAN HANDLE RISK. WORST-CASE SCENARIO IS I LOSE EVERYTHING AND I STILL GET FED AND HAVE A PLACE TO NAP. “That’s … a surprisingly chill way of thinking about things.” SOMETIMES IT’S BETTER NOT TO BE A HUMAN, CHARLIE.

Has he?” “Passed on?” “Yes.” “He was dead when he arrived here,” Chesterfield said. “Do you expect that condition to change?” “It would be unusual if it did.

Can we start with the cat?” I asked, sitting. CATS, Hera typed. PERSEPHONE IS MY INTERN. Persephone looked at me and mewed. “Paid internship, I hope,” I joked. OF COURSE, Hera typed back. WE’RE ANIMALS, NOT MONSTERS. I paused. “Do you actually get paid?” I asked my cat. YES. “How much?” MORE THAN YOU.

I can’t tell if you’re joking with me,” I said. “I’m mostly joking with you.” “That ‘mostly’ is doing a lot of work in that sentence.

Did you train that cat to attack people?” Jacobs asked. “No,” I said. “She’s just a good judge of character.

Your uncle didn’t make mistakes.” “The note with the berry spoons,” I said. “Your uncle rarely made mistakes,” Morrison amended.

When people name cats, they usually do it in one of three categories: food, physical characteristics or mythology,” Morrison explained. “So, you name your cat Sugar, or Smudge, or Zeus. You went with mythology.” “What about people who name their cats for characters in fantasy books?” I picked up Hera’s food bowl from her mat, and got a smaller bowl for the kitten. “Gandalf. Sauron. That sort of thing.” “Covered under mythology.

A stupid villain threatens, Charlie. A smarter villain offers a service.

What do you want to do first, then?” “I want to throw up from stress,” I said. “But let’s visit the dolphins instead.

Maybe I’m just better with cats than people, and cats seem to know that.” “That’s the toxoplasmosis talking.” “I’m sure it is.

How dead do you think Gratas wants me?” I asked her. “You mean on a scale of one to ten, where one is ‘live and let live’ and ten is ‘murder you slow, bury your corpse in the woods, then dig you up to shit on your skull’? Maybe an eight.” “Okay, good.

I expected the members of Earth’s leading society of villains to be smarter,” I said. “I don’t know why.” “They’re smarter in movies and books.” “They would have to be, wouldn’t they?” Morrison said. “In the real world, they can be what people like them usually are: a bunch of dudes born into money who used that money to take advantage of other people to make even more money. It works great until they start believing that being rich makes them smart, and then they get in trouble.

Cats are fucking class traitors,

So now what?” I said. “Neither of us can get that gun, and if you try to attack me my cat will murder you.” “I’m thinking,” Jacobs said. “You’re bleeding,” I said. “I can do both.

I couldn’t just abscond with the kitten; kitten pilfering is morally and probably legally wrong. I am not a monster, or not that kind of monster, anyway.

Oooooh, Northwestern,” Who Gives a Shit said. “Fucking doormat of the Big Ten, you must be very proud.

...I'm here on an island in the Caribbean, being told I need to talk to the dolphins in the middle of a labor action about some whales that might have torpedoes, armed by a secret society of villains who want access to a storeroom full of objects probably looted from the victims of the friggin' Nazis and who are maybe willing to blow up -my volcano lair- to get it.

But then, no one ever needs a cat these days. That’s not why we have cats. We have cats because they amuse us and because otherwise our clothes would lack the texture only cat hair can provide.

They're trapped.” ”You're not trapped if you don't want to leave.

What anyone’s actual worth is, is what they have or could make liquid now. Most of those ‘billionaires’ would be lucky to realize five percent of their presumed worth.

I don’t know anything about this!” I said. “I don’t know how to deal with striking dolphins, or torpedo whales, or evil conspiracies

HUMANS DO A GOOD JOB OF MAKING OUTCASTS,

I don't know how other people got on being a fugitive from the FBI, but for me it was going pretty great.

You need to go talk to the dolphins," Morrison said. I laughed, not entirely the laugh of a sane person, I have to admit.

Jake looked better now, dead, than I did, alive. Certainly less stressed.

You're needed for something else entirely." I nodded. "Useful idiot." "I was going to say 'administration.

So we’re like Spotify, but for evil.” “We’re much less evil than Spotify. We actually pay a living wage to the people whose work we’re selling.

YOU MAY HAVE TO BUY MORE FURNITURE. UNLESS YOU LIKE SLEEPING ON CAT BEDS. IN WHICH CASE, YOU’RE ALL SET.

Oh, no, Charlie. Don’t swim with the dolphins during a labor dispute. No matter how much they try to convince you otherwise.

Everyone who could make someone else’s day worse, but tries to make it better instead. Thank you. It’s more important than you think.

And don’t believe anything that comes out of his mouth, including ‘and’ and ‘the.

This was the public legacy of a billionaire and his life’s work: two minutes of forgettable business reporting,

I’m not paying millions for a really big TV,” I said. “I applaud your fiscal restraint,” Morrison said. “But you make a shit rich person.” “Maybe I’ll get better at it.” “Please don’t.

Most of the people I know are ex-journalists like me. They’re either working as bartenders or substitute teachers.” “Which do you do?” “The latter for now. I was hoping to upgrade to the former.

If you’re going that far you could see all animals as having rights,” Seventy-three said. “Whether you think they’re smart or not.” “You eat fish,” I said to him. “True,” Seventy-three said. “Fuck fish.

No!" I held up my hand, and then looked around the room, at the room full of probably-assassins. "Do any of you know my uncle personally?’" No one responded. "How many of you are here to make sure that he’s dead?" All the hands went up.

Your uncle is in parking garages because they fund his more important work.... Which is to seek out, fund and create the sort of technologies and services that bring disruptive change to existing industrial and social paradigms, and offer them, on a confidential basis, to interested businesses an d governments. That's a great mission statement... but it doesn't say what he actually DID. HE WAS A VILLIAN, Hera typed. I stared at what she had written and looked back at Morrison. We don't use that word in public, and also, yes, she said. And this meeting that the stabber had the invite for, I asked. Villain conference, Morrison said. Think of Davos, except they don't pretend they're helping people. And I'd be going there. Yes, after we visit the volcano lair.

What’s going on there?” THAT’S JUST SOME REAL ESTATE DEALS I’M WORKING ON. “Real estate?” I HAVE A LIFE OUTSIDE OF THIS COMPANY, YOU KNOW. “More than I do,” I said. “Is … that legal? Owning real estate?” YOU MEAN, BECAUSE I’M A CAT? “Well, yes.” I HAVE A TRUST SET UP FOR MY BENEFIT AND A HUMAN LAWYER THAT ACTS AS THE EXECUTOR. I TELL HIM WHAT TO DO, HE DOES IT. “Does he know you’re a cat?” YOU KNOW, IT’S NEVER COME UP. “So, you’re a real estate maven.” I HAVE A DIVERSIFIED PORTFOLIO, Hera wrote. MOSTLY BORING BUT SOME EXCITING PARTS. I DO A LOT OF INVESTING IN EMERGING MARKETS. “Sounds risky.” I’M A CAT, I CAN HANDLE RISK. WORST-CASE SCENARIO IS I LOSE EVERYTHING AND I STILL GET FED AND HAVE A PLACE TO NAP. “That’s … a surprisingly chill way of thinking about things.” SOMETIMES IT’S BETTER NOT TO BE A HUMAN, CHARLIE.

Operative Six,” an artificial-sounding voice said, from the other end of the call. “This is Roberto Gratas, daily code seven nine three three.” “Code confirmed,” the voice said several seconds later. “Convey message.” “Request delivery of the second target package on my mark.” Gratas looked at me and smiled. “Here it comes, Charlie,” he said. “Request confirmed and denied,” the voice on the other end of the line said. “Excuse me?” Gratas looked confused. “Request confirmed and denied,” the voice repeated. “You’re denying my request.” “Confirm, we’re denying it.” “You can’t deny it.” “Your denial of our denial is confirmed and denied,” the voice said. “Who is this?” Gratas said. “Operative Six.” “Operative Six, confirm that you know who I am.” “You are Roberto Gratas.” “Confirm that you have cleared my daily code.” “Your daily code has been confirmed.” “Then you can’t deny my request!” “This syllogism is faulty and is denied,” the voice said.

I expected the members of Earth’s leading society of villains to be smarter,” I said. “I don’t know why.” “They’re smarter in movies and books.” “They would have to be, wouldn’t they?” Morrison said. “In the real world, they can be what people like them usually are: a bunch of dudes born into money who used that money to take advantage of other people to make even more money. It works great until they start believing that being rich makes them smart, and then they get in trouble. Unless they find someone else to take advantage of.

Dogs are the worst. They'll sell you out for a treat and a head pat.

So you're saying I should be homeless so a trio of financially secure middle-aged people can put to rest their psychological issues with their father." "I wouldn't put it like that. But it's not wrong, either." "Therapy would be cheaper," I noted.

You look great, Uncle Jake," I assured his corpse. Uncle Jake said nothing, which, mind you, was only in keeping with what he did when he was alive.

I didn’t see the knife until the dude was just about to stab it into my uncle’s corpse. More accurately, I did see it. But my brain didn’t register it as an actual, no-bullshit, holy-shit-that’s-actually-a-knife knife until the dude, who had produced it from an overcoat pocket, cocked back his arm in a windup to drive the frankly rather substantial blade into my uncle’s already cold and lifeless heart.

In fairness, it had already been an extremely odd service. Forty minutes back in the timeline,

Being in a room full of people who are simultaneously billionaires and out of cash is a wild thing.” “It’s that liquidity thing I told you about.

You went the goddess route,” Morrison said, as she closed the door behind her. “What is ‘the goddess route’?” I asked. “When people name cats, they usually do it in one of three categories: food, physical characteristics or mythology,” Morrison explained. “So, you name your cat Sugar, or Smudge, or Zeus. You went with mythology.” “What about people

I didn’t see the knife until the dude was just about to stab it into my uncle’s corpse.

So what are we doing with this ability? I asked. Are we blackmailing governments or companies? Give us money or we blast your satellites into smithereens. Trying to blackmail the US or China would be a really good way to have St Genevieve turned into a smoking crater. A stupid villain threatens, Charlie. A smarter villain offers a service. ..So we offer satellite blasting services? We have a select clientele who, for an annual retainer fee, have the option to use our ability to enact logistical challenges to their competitors. In space. So that's a yes.

Are there other smart animals? Dogs, maybe?” NO DOGS, Hera typed. DOGS ARE THE WORST. THEY’LL SELL YOU OUT FOR A TREAT AND A HEAD PAT.

We have cats because they amuse us and because otherwise our clothes would lack the texture only cat hair can provide.

CNBC solved this lack-of-drama problem by bringing on a reporter from Parking Magazine, the trade rag of the National Parking Association—and yes, both of those things are real.

He kept tabs on you,” Morrison said. “Discreetly. From a distance. In a way that wouldn’t antagonize your father.” “Well, that doesn’t sound creepy at all,” I said.

My cat types and has her own house,” I said. “Yes.

My breakfast partner was Hera, an orange-and-white cat who, after I had retreated to my childhood home after the divorce and layoff, had emerged from the backyard bushes and informed me through meowing that she lived with me now.

That's unfair," the bro at the table next to ours said, butting into a conversation that wasn't his because he was sure he had something of value to say.

I didn't volunteer that Dad paid off the house with the life insurance policy on mom after her car accident. This wasn't 'America's Got Talent; I didn't want to share a sob story.

We were back in the tearoom, which was now beginning to fill up with tech and finance bros in town for the Bellagio Gathering. Half of them were talking loudly to nothing, earbuds conspicuously glimmering in their ears, cell phones on the table. The other half had their cell phones out and were talking into them without the benefit of earbuds, holding them out like the USB-C connector was a microphone. They were all performatively Doing a Business for the benefit of all the rest of them.

I went to Northwestern,” I said, only a little defensively. “Oooooh, Northwestern,” Who Gives a Shit said. “Fucking doormat of the Big Ten, you must be very proud.” “Doormat! Doormat!” “You’re forgetting about Rutgers,” I said, but then looked back at Livgren. “Still a fairly esoteric bit of information for a sea creature.

I went to Northwestern,” I said, only a little defensively. “Oooooh, Northwestern,” Who Gives a Shit said. “Fucking doormat of the Big Ten, you must be very proud.

But then Mrs. Tum-Tum—” “I’m sorry.” I held up a hand. “Missus who?” “Mrs. Tum-Tum,” Livgren repeated. “The head of the Feline Intelligence Division.” I looked over to Morrison. “She’s called Mrs. Tum-Tum?” “Yes, and?” “I don’t know,” I confessed. “I guess I just wasn’t expecting to have a serious discussion involving someone called Mrs. Tum-Tum.” “It’s not her fault,” Morrison said. “Some human named her when she was a kitten. Humans give cats really shitty names sometimes. Blame the human, not the cat.” “Does Mrs. Tum-Tum have a first name?” Morrison looked at me oddly. “No, it’s just Mrs. Tum-Tum. Or, if you want to be formal about it, Director Mrs. Tum-Tum.” “Not just Director Tum-Tum?” “No, because Mrs. Tum-Tum is her name. The ‘Missus’ part isn’t an honorific.” “Are—” “Charlie, could you actually fucking focus for a moment?” Morrison asked. “Right, sorry,” I said, and turned back to Livgren. “Director Mrs. Tum-Tum,” I prompted.

I expected the members of Earth's leading society of villains to be smarter.

So we’re like Spotify, but for evil.” “We’re much less evil than Spotify. We actually pay a living wage to the people whose work we’re selling.

Wait, is there a plot to take over the world with a giant laser?

CATS, Hera types. PERSEPHONE IS MY INTERN. -- Persephone looked at me and mewed. -- "Paid internship, I hope," I joked. -- OF COURSE, Hera typed back. WE'RE ANIMALS, NOT MONSTERS. (p. 62)

Don’t swim with the dolphins during a labor dispute. No matter how much they try to convince you otherwise.

What Does It Mean to Be a Villain?” in yellow, on a blue gradient background. “Do they give this presentation to all the new hires?” I whispered to Morrison. “Executives and managers, yes,” Morrison said. “Shut up and listen.” I shut up and listened. And what I heard was that villains, at least for the purposes of this particular human resources presentation, were not bad people, and not evil people. What they were, were professional disrupters: the people who looked at systems and processes; found the weak spots, loopholes and unintended consequences of each of them; and then exploited them, either for their own advantage or the advantage of their client base. These activities, Yang explained, were neither inherently good nor bad in themselves—their “goodness” or “badness” was entirely dependent on the perspective of the observer.

So we’re like Spotify, but for evil.

Follow your cats.” “What?” “Follow your cats,” Morrison repeated. “What is that supposed to mean?” “What part of ‘follow your cats’ is hard to understand?” Morrison asked. “All of it, honestly,” I said. “Look, don’t overthink it, Charlie,” Morrison said. “Tell Hera I told you to follow her. She’ll take it from there.

But then, no one ever needs a cat these days. That’s not why we have cats. We have cats because they amuse us and because otherwise our clothes would lack the texture only cat hair can provide. Besides, when a kitten walks up to you and makes demands, what are you going to do? Say no? I repeat: I am not a monster.

she said, and then nodded at the kitten on my shoulder. “Interesting accoutrement. Do you always wear one of those?” I petted the kitten, who was now simultaneously napping and purring on my shoulder. “They’re just terribly comfortable,” I said. “I think everyone will be wearing them in the future.” The woman looked at me, wryly. “That’s a Princess Bride reference,” I explained.

When people name cats, they usually do it in one of three categories: food, physical characteristics or mythology,” Morrison explained. “So, you name your cat Sugar, or Smudge, or Zeus. You went with mythology.

didn’t need another cat. At this point in my brilliant career as an itinerant educator I could barely afford to feed myself. But then, no one ever needs a cat these days. That’s not why we have cats. We have cats because they amuse us and because otherwise our clothes would lack the texture only cat hair can provide.

We got a good deal on them,” Morrison said. “And you have to sell a work.” “A ‘work’?” Dobrev asked. “It’s a wrestling term,” Morrison clarified for him. “A made-up story.

I didn't see the knife until the dude was just about to stab it into my uncle's corpse. More accurately, I did see it. But my brain didn't register it as an actual, no-bullshit, holy-shit-that's-actually-a-knife knife until the dude, who had produced it from an overcoat pocket, cocked back his arm in a windup to drive the frankly rather substantial blade into my uncle's already cold and lifeless heart.

Not bad for a substitute teacher.” “Not great for a villain.” “You know what,” I said. “Right now, I’m okay with that.

I’ll get on it,” I lied to her, one last time.

In her search for solutions [to high conflict], [Amanda] Ripley shows that the process of escaping these situations usually involves five steps. Participants in the conflict, she suggests, need to “investigate the understory” that made them so invested in the first place. They should “reduce the binary,” recognizing that they may share more values and interests with their adversaries than they realize. They must “marginalize the fire starters,” ceasing to listen to those who seem to get a thrill out of the fight. They should “buy time and make space,” stopping themselves from escalating when they feel triggered. Most important, they need to “complicate the narrative,” recognizing that any story in which one side consists of pure heroes and the other of cartoonish villains is unlikely to be altogether accurate.

Your uncle is in parking garages because they fund his more important work,” Morrison said. “Which is to seek out, fund and create the sort of technologies and services that bring disruptive change to existing industrial and social paradigms, and offer them, on a confidential basis, to interested businesses and governments.

It takes a special kind of man to give serious consideration to a cat.

Eames chairs,

Do they talk?" I asked. The dolphin chittered something. "Who is THIS fucknugget?" is what came out of a nearby speaker. "I guess that's a yes.

My uncle's brand of villainy did not extend to wanton use of plastics.

A stupid villain threatens. A smarter villain offers a service.

If you were a dolphin without options, maybe you'd say "fuck" a lot too.