If Ariana Grande and Pete Davidson are not married by the end of the year, I will unleash hell on Gotham City
People of Gotham: prepare to meet your doom! I am the Purple Scorpion, and unless my terms are met, I will be your destroyer.
You may have noticed that I have dispatched my armed minions to seal off every mode of exit from the city, including all major highways and the airport. My giant destructo ray, meanwhile, is currently trained right at the heart of Gotham City, ready to destroy this pathetic sewer of a metropolis. And your beloved "Caped Crusader" Batman and his feeble "Boy Wonder" Robin are powerless to stop me, for they are imprisoned in my underground lair.
My demands, you ask? I have only one. If celebrity couple Ariana Grande and Pete Davidson are not married before January 1, 2019, Gotham City will be obliterated!
Yes, in the past, Gotham's only saviour has been the pathetic, laughable Dark Knight and his arsenal of Dollar Store toys and geegaws. But he cannot save you now. Only two people can: the woman who sang Problem and the sleepy stoner kid from SNL. I am driven by two goals: to crush the irksome Batman like a beetle beneath my heel, and to see those two knucklehead kids spend the rest of their lives together.
To be clear: I may be an evil genius supervillain, but I'm not unreasonable. I'm not necessarily looking for a lavish, expensive to-do in a towering New York cathedral or on a Hawaiian beach. I'd be fine with them visiting City Hall or hitting Las Vegas for a quickie wedding. If the pair did want a ceremony, however, I'd be happy to allow them the use of my island hideout, which would be protected from paparazzi by my militia of corrupt ex-CIA operatives and my collection of bloodthirsty bear-shark mutant hybrids. Plus, food and drink is on me!
Many have asked me: oh malevolent Purple Scorpion, why are you so fascinated by this particular famous courtship? My investment stems from the central trauma of my childhood: the murder of my parents: a drowsy and affable young man who was commendably open about his struggles with mental illness and a tiny woman with a four-octave vocal range. From that day forward, I have been consumed by my desire for two things: revenge on the city for being made an orphan, and the eternal union of two famous millennials who haven't really been dating that long.
If the young woman who licked a donut and announced "I hate America" and the gravel-voiced sprite whose firefighter father died on 9/11 can produce proof of marriage before the year is through, I will withdraw my armed legions and retreat to my secret mountain hideout to plot my next attempt at world domination. This proof could be photos, a marriage certificate, or an In Touch article entitled "Bang Bang Singer Hitched to SNL Goofball in Private Ceremony."
But if they postpone the wedding until next winter, break up, or agree to some "common-law" horsecrap? You shall all meet your makers!
Don't miss anything from CBC Comedy - like us on Facebook and Instagram.