You Have Given Me 57.4 Million Reasons to Destroy You

Greetings from Doomstadt:

It has been some time, America, has it not? When was the last time we spoke? Was it when we had clashed over Atlantean trade rights? Or was it at that global telecommunications conference in Prague? Oh yes, I remember. It was as I was throwing your armed forces out of my country.

At that point, I believe I had agreed to allow you to operate independent of my will, had I not? I would not launch an army of doombots to raze your capital to the ground. I would not flood the market with surplus agricultural stores, toppling your nation’s economy. I would not conjure razor-backed demonspawn into your theme parks to wreak havoc and strike fear into the hearts of your population. Needless to say, I had kept my part of the bargain. I am, after all, a man of my word.

I agreed to leave you alone, and all that I asked was that you keep your greedy, short-sighted paws away from my affairs and those of my nation, the glorious protectorate of Latveria. We did not need your “peace-keeping efforts” or your “humanitarian aid.” Doom is all this nation needs. The rules were simple - give Latveria a wide berth, and the peace would continue.

It appears, though, that you have come to view my benevolence as weakness. My grace as cowardice. As is often the case, you are quite mistaken.

This past weekend a shot was fired at the personage of Doom – the first World War was started by a similar act. Expect a more severe result this time. Mark my words, an affront to Doom is an affront to Latveria. “L’estat, c’est moi.” (Loathe as I am to quote the French, they do prove that even an imbecile can stumble into wit.)

I can tell by your slack-jawed indifference that you do not understand the level, nay, even the source of your folly. Allow me to educate you.

Over this past weekend the second in a series of films was released for public viewing - a film entitled Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer. This cinematic masterpiece is an insult. It is a hatchet-job. It is a loathsome propaganda piece that spends a healthy portion of the film dragging the name of Victor Von Doom through the mud.

When the first Fantastic Four movie was released, I remained silent. I believed that the tastes of the American public would be more discerning. That you people would recognize a character assassination when it was placed in front of you, even when it was presented in living Technicolor. Unfortunately, I had overestimated your collective intelligence. Regardless, I allowed the insult to slide.

Now, a second film has been released and grossed $57.4 million in its first weekend alone. Well America, fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

Perhaps you would plead ignorance. You might argue that the makers of this film were unaware of the raw power possessed by Doom. Maybe they did not know that I had once stolen the power of Galactus himself. That I had conquered the world on numerous occasions. That I had (with some slight assistance) freed the soul of my dear, sweet mother from the pits of Hell. That I had nearly stolen Black Beard’s treasure. (Curse you Reed Richards!) That I had matched wits with Mephisto, the Beyonder and the Celestials – all while coming out on top. Were unaware of Doom? I find that unlikely.

I could ignore the fact that they butchered my background in the first film (as if I would ever fall so far as to become an American businessman), but they give me some sort of lightningy, metal-moving powers. Honestly, did they even think that out in the script meeting? Were they just going through a list of stock special effects and say, “Hey my fellow imbecilic moviemakers, we figured out how to do some pretty sweet chain lightning when we were doing the X-Men movies. Why don’t we just have Doom shoot out some type of electrical thingy? We could say that he got it from cosmic radiation or something. Oh and he should move metal around like Magneto, you know ‘cause evil people are always moving metal around.” Genius. After all, how flashy could a man in nuclear-powered armor be? I mean it’s not like I’ve equipped it with a vast arsenal of beam weapons. It’s barely able to lift 20 tons. It can’t even fly…oh wait. It can.

Speaking of my armor, perhaps I should discuss my appearance in the film. So the last movie left me looking like Emperor Palpatine? Really? I guess I would have been fine with that, but Julian McMahon’s silky-smooth voice really didn’t sell the look. My face looks like sausage innards after passing through a blender, but I have the voice of a smooth jazz radio host. Silly me, I would assume that the level of heat needed to sear my face in such a manner would wreak havoc upon my vocal cords. Apparently my cinematic counterpart's larynx is unstoppable. Perhaps it should start wearing a gaudy helmet and crashing through walls...And when I finally obtain the power cosmic, my armor turns black? I’m sorry, didn’t that already happen this summer in the Spider-Man movie?

Not to mention the dialogue. My word, do they have a collection of inebriated, inbred Neanderthals hammering out the script? “Johnny, your encounter with the Silver Surfer has affected your molecules.” Your molecules? (I don’t know about you, but Doom loathes when his molecules are affected. Throws him off for the entire day.) But, of course, the true gems are left for Doom – nay, the caricature of Doom. They actually have it utter, “Let’s go for a spin” right before creating a mini-cyclone. Go for a spin indeed. Let me make one thing clear – Doom does not quip. He does not jibe or jape or jest. He is not Spider-Man. You would do well to note that.

Mayhaps I should count my blessings, though – I was able to dodge the dance routine that seems to have become obligatory for Marvel Studios films. Reed Richards may be an imbecile, but he is not retarded. Ioan Gruffudd spastically cutting a rug with poorly rendered CGI – that is retarded.

Insults aside, the film is thoroughly enjoyable and an improvement over the previous installment. Unfortunately, the positive aspects of this movie do not allay my wrath at being so gravely insulted. Rest assured Hollywood, you have gained my attention. Now tremble in fear before the coming storm.


Regards,

Victor Von Doom
Monarch of Latveria

P.S. Since I am a sportsman, I will offer you a chance at survival - at least against the first wave of my onslaught. I would suggest that you craft some type of defense against a division of mechanized wildebeests armed with…on second thought, I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise.