No wonder the Bond villian chose a fluffy white cat...

In order to increase my standing within my scientist cred circles, I decided to get a pet, an animal which is a visual representation of my innermost being.  This animal will serve as a warning for the weak and envious and an aphrodisiac for those craving power through the use of science.  So, using my intense powers of self-critique, I bought a scorpion.  Nothing ostentatious by the catalog standards, just something small and suggesting that I may be...poisonous.  Subtle.  Sexy.  Also Carolina Scientific had a cheap price!  A week goes by, and the stockroom manager informs me that I "better get my monster out of his stockroom."  I come in to see that they have placed the little rascal into a terranium with a hollow log and a screen on top.  Nice.  With massive textbooks holding down the top.  Wait, what?  The...scorpion hardly seems worthy to describe the nightmarish creature currently trying to attack through wire mesh, a calculus and physics textbooks.  It is as black as night, with a sheen suggesting the carapace might actually be made of Satan's own black blood.  It took one glance at this new disturber and you could sense the predator/prey definition had shifted.  How could I use this as a pet when I would be afraid to be within 10 unfettered feet of this...spawn of the Dark One?  What do I feed it, souls of my Minions?  On the upside, no one would question this creature's right to live, it clearly lives to threaten the lives of others.  So far, I have learned it doesn't like crickets or mice, but it does like Minion fingers.  I have named it Harvey. 

Mad Scientists Reproduce by Asexual Means, but We Tend to Eat Our Young.

In an attempt to alleviate my boredom as a brilliant mad scientist without grant funding and whiling away time in academia whilst my volcano lair is under construction, I am experiencing a new aspect of professorship: advisees.  The new chair of the department, whom is so over the top handsome that I half expect him to show up shirtless with an oar or other random obscure sports apparel, has in desperation asked my august self to take some advisees.  I distractedly thanked him, but informed him that I don't need any more test subjects for the chlamydia aerosolization tests.  He reacted badly to this offhand remark, spouting something about, "ethics", and "moral responsibilities in scientific research", or something equally incomprehensible.  At least that is what I think I heard, I get distracted when he turns so red and flaps his arms like that, and then I was calculating how much chlamydia I would need for the large, 10-person aerosolization chamber....Long story short, I was informed that these students are taken under a wing of a nurturing professor, who works with them to make sure their direction in classes and information is sound for a future career path and graduation.  An interesting idea, that.  Perhaps I could instill a few choice students with a careful orchestra of advanced knowledge, to pass on a small fraction of my vast stores of wisdom to another generation of...of....mad scientists?  Is this a form of reproduction, to pass on eldritch knowledge?  Well, they first have to pass the chlamydia aerosolization chamber.  With this monumental decision for producing prodigy, I cut through the rant of the Chair, something about "Tuskagee", and grandly announced that I would happily take some of these advisees, the cream of the crop, to nurture as a mother turkey vulture to her chicks.  I need 10 strong subj--I mean students.