I wake up every morning planning a new plan to get the Baudelaire fortune.  No one helps me.  They are all too selfish, even being the specially picked members of my theater troupe.  The Inventing Idiot, the Ridiculous Reader, and the Biting Brat are too smart.

"Boss!  The twins!  They're escaping!" yells Captain Hook.  He is the one the Baudelaires call the Hook-handed man. 

"Be logical, you dolt!  Catch them!" I yell back.  Suddenly, the doorbell rings.  It is a short, important-looking man with a lot of warts on his face. 

"Hello," he says.  I slam the door on his face.  He can only read, write, talk, walk, and turn off  lights.  The Author.  Of course.  I have to stay away from him.  He researches my life and writes negative things about me.

Now, in my care is a rich set of twins, the Quintuplets.  I leave them a note, sign it with an eye, and go up to my tower.  I yank a pair of sunglasses, pants with the legs sewn together at the bottom, and a bandage to slip over my eyebrow.  I put on a shirt, a tailcoat, and carry a folded up wheelchair down.  It is still safe.  The twins don't get up until later.  When I get outside, I open up the wheelchair and sit down in it.  It is a disguise, you know.  I make my way to 667 Dark Avenue.  I know the baudelaires are here from doing careful research on the family whose house I burnt down a few months ago.  Not even Mr. Poe can catch me now.

I pretty much spend my day like this.  Getting into costume, and then following the plan I have just made up.  At night, I dream of getting the fortune and using it to buy me a gun.  I will auction the Quagmire rubies and get a sword.  I will pay all my employees, which includes Georgina Orwell and Nero and Sir.  I will kill the Baudelaires once I get my hands on them and I will have revenge.

Sweet revenge.