Here it is, years in the building, seconds in the uncovering, my subterranean super villain lair.
14 double decker buses in length, in tribute to Evel Knievel.
The height of a football pitch, if balanced on one goal end.
It has the volume of the number of blue whales that can be arranged in formation around the M25, nose to tail.
Primed to launch fuzzy felt missiles equipped with warheads made from Space Dust.*
Commanding magnificent views of hills, trees, and a cement factory.
It really is bloody magnificent.
However, I've reached the limit of my super villain powers.
The time has come to allow someone else the joy of owning this delightful country retreat.
Basically there's a bit of damp and I can't afford to sort it out, no reasonable offer refused.
* Traditional, 1970s Space Dust, not this piss-poor non-carcinogenic Pop Rocks stuff they sell now.
For official/internal use only:
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