Well, let's see....

As you may already know, my father was a relentlessly self-improving lingerie salesman with low-grade narcolepsy and a panchant for buggery. My mother was a 15-year-old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink, make outrageous claims like he had invented the question mark.

When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap sack and beaten with reeds.

That's a pretty rough upbringing and is generally enough to turn anyone "evil."

And no doubt it influenced my decision to dedicate my life to professional villany. But that's not why I really went into the business.

So why go evil, then?

Yes, do tell.

I bet it was for the money! This is what happens when you don't join the over twenty million people across the country who get money from government programs thanks to my helpful books!

No, the money has nothing to do with it. Though I do have an affinity for demanding that a country deliver my ransom payments in gold bullion.

Hah! See, I told you fuckers. GOLD is where it's AT.

My evil stems from a deep, burning hatred for a mythical entity.

Don't even try to lay this at my feet.

You stuck me in that lousy childhood but thanks to counselling with my son I've learned to forgive you. No, all my evil stems from a different mythical entity: Santa. I would never have gone down the path of evil if Santa had fulfilled my one request when I was seven years old.

All the murders, all the ransoming of nation-states, the elaborate traps and all the countless hours spent devising new weapons could have been avoided if he had just given me that 'Easy-Bake Oven.'

That's the lamest genesis story I've ever heard.

I really wanted to make my own cupcakes.