Dear Mrs. Henchman #47

Dear Mrs. Gargan,
I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but your husband has passed away due to injuries obtained after falling into a shark tank in the workplace. We believe he did not suffer after the first twenty or so minutes of being thrashed around by our resident shark, Mr. Tibbles. I cannot even begin to adequately express my true sorrow for your loss. We will give you time to grieve, but rest assured, if you are ever in need of support, your family here at Operation Doom Incorporated will be ready to help.

Mr. Gargan was an irreplaceable and loyal henchman, whom I will miss greatly. I recall one moment when a certain, famous spy of British origin managed to use an explosive comb to escape my crew. I was fairly enraged and threatened to feed all of them to Mr. Tibbles, which now seems an ironic threat – but your husband talked sense into me. Taking me aside, he reasoned that a comb was no place to hide a bomb. As a comb-owner himself, he claimed to never even think to put an explosive in his own comb. Or any grooming instrument for that matter. It’s so easy to forget. Even for a world-renowned spy, it seemed far too risky. From that perspective, which he so skillfully articulated, I too came to realise that it was unfair of me to expect them to inspect such a non-threatening, everyday item. So, I only fed one of them to the shark. It was Rolf. You met him at the Christmas party. He’s the one who juggles 2 oranges and pretends to be a big deal for it. Sorry, pretended to be a big deal. I assure you, Rolf being ripped apart by a shark is good for us all.

Your husband’s incident was purely accidental. I am told he unintentionally walked into the tank an hour before we were expecting to feed the British spy to the sharks. Truly, the worst time to fall in there. Had they already been fed then perhaps I wouldn’t be writing this letter to you.

Though we can’t fill the 7-foot-2-inch hole left by your husband’s passing, his lucrative henchman’s salary will continue to be mailed in cash to you on the 23rd of every month, barring any of our plans being foiled or my own death. If any item you receive from us happens to require a PIN code, please enter the number 74920189. Please, please do not make any mistake when entering these digits, as every PIN-coded item we send out is rigged with explosives. I can’t even tell you the number of able-bodied warrior henchmen I’ve lost to such a simple mistake.

If you have any problems, I am readily available so long as you agree to a brief interrogation by my second in command.

Yours sincerely,
J. Ventura & the Operation Doom Inc. Family.

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Dear Mr. and Mrs. Gabriel,
I am sorry to inform you that your son is no more. He tragically passed away during our struggle for a better tomorrow. As I’m sure you already know, our company has long been planning on hyper-cooling our beautiful blue orb of a planet, thus eradicating all mosquito life, thereby sending diseases like malaria to the ash heap of history. No one believed in our mission more than your son. Take comfort in the fact that he died with a proud heart.

Unfortunately, some look upon our noble efforts and inexplicably see a threat. Is it our fault that not all of human life can adjust to a 50-degree drop in temperature? There we all were, in space, preparing our liquid nitrogen bomb, when a certain English spy with a thick Scottish accent used our well-meaning contraption against us! The audacity!  Your son bravely threw himself onto the device, taking in its entire freezing power, leaving us to continue fighting the good fight. As such, we can no longer send you his remains as he happened to shatter into a thousand pieces once frozen.

I promise you that his sacrifice will serve its purpose. Though we no longer have the means to launch a freeze-bomb from space, we do have a new plan in mind. One that will honour your son’s appreciation for world-renowned monuments. Remember when we broke one of the pyramids? That was him! His demolition skills were truly second to none, even when it wasn’t quite intentional.

His henchman’s salary will be delivered in cash to you on the 23^rd of every month for a year. If it happens to require a PIN code, please enter the digits 3696637. Do not make a mistake; it could be fatal.

Yours sincerely,
J. Ventura & the Operation Doom Inc. Family                                                

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Dear Mr. Hwang,
I express my deepest condolences to you. I am ever so sorry that you had to learn of your wife’s passing from the news and not me first. To be impaled on the Eiffel Tower is a far more public demise than what we’re familiar with. But rather than dwelling on the cause of death and subsequent video replays of Mrs. Hwang falling from our aircraft and onto the pointy end of one of the most well-known constructions of all time, I think it would serve all who knew her to discuss the life she led.

I am not quite certain how much you already know, but I find it is best to be completely transparent. Of course, as I’ve learnt recently, this could be a grave misstep. I was under the impression that the family of henchpeople would be aware that a company called “Operation Doom Incorporated” might happen to dabble in morally grey activities. But replies to my recent condolence letters seem to prove otherwise. If you can believe it, some spouses didn’t even know we had a shark tank! Personally, I see nothing improper about what we do.

Regardless, back to your wife. She was magnificent when it came to the ways of torture. You name it; whether it was barbed wire around the inner thighs, waterboarding, screaming “NYANHAHNA” repeatedly in the torturee’s ears, or threatening the lives of selected loved ones, your wife was our go-to specialist. Despite the somewhat unsavoury nature of her day-to-day business – she tortured a lot of people, like, a lot, a lot – she never seemed affected by it. As professional as they come. One moment she’d be handling a super sleuth’s intestines, and with a snap, she’d be by the water cooler bantering with our accounting department. She will be sorely missed. Our offices will be hosting a small memorial service in her honour. We sincerely hope you will be attending.

Though I had promised not to discuss the details surrounding your wife’s demise, I feel it would be remiss if I were to fail to convey a sentiment she had expressed mere hours before her death. As every news outlet has revealed, it was our intention to use the Eiffel Tower as a source from which mind-control waves would propagate and influence every civilian not wearing a lead helmet at the time. Somehow, the spin doctors in the media have created a negative image of this well-meaning plan. In our prepared statement,t we made it clear that our intention was simply to create world peace and destroy the very need for war – differing opinions! But no, instead, nonsense think-pieces regarding violations of free will were spread. Anyway. You can imagine how much easier your wife’s job would have become if we were successful. She said to Mr. Ruckus, who later said to me, that she was glad that we were making strides to make our own work easier. She looked forward to coming home early to see you and the rest of the family.

As per her contract, her salary will be delivered by mail to you on the 23^rd of every month. If required, please enter the PIN code 826927. If entered incorrectly, there could be severe consequences, the likes of which your wife had used in threats while on the job. Truly remarkable.

Yours sincerely,
J. Ventura & the Operation Doom Inc. Family                                                

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Dear Mrs. La Fontaine,
It is with immense sorrow that I must inform you that your husband has been killed in a mishap involving an exploding pen. My deepest condolences to you and each of your nineteen children. The details of your husband’s demise are dreadful, but of course, you are entitled to them. Fair warning.

I assume you are already familiar with the nature of our company. We’ve long been pioneers in the scientific world. Our fantastic men and women have developed numerous handy gadgets for common, everyday use. We’d already begun rolling out inflatable axes and are preparing a presentation of a line of espionage-catapults to the military. Our latest product was a fountain pen that would combust once it had completed writing its 1712th word. Through a series of employee-made blunders, this pen found its way to your husband. Unaware of its capabilities, he wrote a brand new manifesto – very well, I might add. It’ll be available on the company website and sent through Home Windows attached to a brick by the end of the next year – and as he signed off on it, it had hit 1711 words. Five minutes later, your husband was engulfed in flame and tearing through our development sector, where there sadly happened to be even more explosive pens. They all instantly ignited, and the fire spread through the entire building. None were spared save for myself.

Sadly, I can no longer provide your family with your husband’s salary because we no longer have employees and therefore, are not quite functional. The only item belonging to him that could be saved was a framed photograph of one of your 19 children. Sadly, the remaining 18 photos could not be salvaged. As I believe this hand-off should be done in person, it will be sent to you once I find the means to buy gas.

Yours sincerely,
J. Ventura

PS: As we search for new hires, I must ask. Are any of your numerous children interested in following in your husband’s footsteps? There’s plenty of travel involved.                                                      ______________