Dear Mr. Burke,
You Godless piece of shit.
Truth be told, I don’t even know where to begin in regards to your truly impressive and bar-raising brand of shadiness on display during the course of Aliens. I can, however, say with the utmost sincerity that few people make my blood boil at the mere thought of their face like yours does.
When we first met, you fit the mold of Smarmy Business Corporate Type perfectly, right down to that weird upturned collar of yours that made you look like you were getting made that week out in Poughkeepsie. A dash of weasel and a pinch of douche, you were a perfect fit for the corporate sensibilities of good old Weyland-Yutani. You know … the mindset that expressly favors progress and expansion at the cost of human lives and all that. Whole families even, if you want to get specific. But I digress.
You continued to play the role of company man to the hilt, leaving Ripley to get thrown under the bus big time during the inquest set up to find out how and why the Nostromo wound up becoming the equivalent of a case of LEGO blocks with a lit stick of dynamite thrown into it. Obviously, the idea of a big, oily drooling motherfucker with spring loaded teeth is high on the list of intellectual property gains for the big W-Y going into the new fiscal year, so they’d understandably be pissed when said gain is blown out into outer fucking space. Naturally, you showed us your game face and pretended to be on the side of the little people by dangling Ripley’s reinstatement into the work force as leverage to get what you wanted.
There’s a fair amount of heinous shit you’ve done to choose from in weighing your induction to the Cult Spark Movie Villain Hall of Fame, and let me just say that it wasn’t fun to sort through it all and be reminded of your propensity for backstabbing and overall shitty behavior. You turning off the camera feed monitor on Ripley and Newt was pretty fucking grimy, even for a ladder climber such as yourself. That goes a step beyond late-night shredding of important documents, sexual harassment in the workplace and travels into the realm of premeditated murder, with one of your intended victims being a goddamn child.
Seriously, dude? Even the alien itself would agree that was pretty cold. After all, you don’t see them fucking each other over for a goddamn percentage.
The fact that pretty much every horrible thing that happens in Aliens is your fucking fault is just another itsy-bitsy reason to consider. You signed off on sending a research team/family to go inspect the Derelict spacecraft on LV-426, and it’s not too much of a stretch to imagine you setting up a Powerpoint presentation after this move to your superiors via Skype with a detailed timeline, plan and outlook on this strategy, complete with an earnings forecast and details on a potential celebratory happy hour once all was said and done.
The few moments you had to show a shred of decency were all obliterated in the end by your need to get ahead on the backs and bones of anyone you saw as an obstacle or little more than a stepping stone. Sure, it was nice that you stood up for Ripley in the APC when everything went to shit and she took matters into her own hands from Lt. Gorman and his bad play calling. But whatever goodwill you amassed went out the window once you decided that, hey, maybe no one else deserved to live, save for you. Too bad Jonesy wasn’t along for the ride. It would have been nice to see him come out of 57 years of hyper-sleep, if only to claw your face up.
You deserved what you got in the end. Every tooth, every spray of alien spittle on your chicken shit face … you earned it just like you’ve earned your place in our hallowed halls here at Cult Spark.
Welcome to the Movie Villain Hall of Fame, you rat fuck son of a bitch.